


Wildflower Ocean

by Heronfem



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 1800's AU, Flowers, Gift Giving, M/M, Mail order husband, Set in Thedas
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-20
Updated: 2016-09-20
Packaged: 2018-08-16 05:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 30,355
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8088544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Heronfem/pseuds/Heronfem
Summary: Dorian Pavus needs out of Tevinter.  The Iron Bull, a relatively well off rancher, is in want of a husband.  It may as well be a perfect match.  After answering The Iron Bull's ad in the newspaper, Dorian is whisked out of Tevinter and into the rugged beauty of Western Orlais to become a farm husband.Together, they learn how to love among the wildflowers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An enormous thank you goes, first and foremost, to sarahwhat. Her art is absolutely glorious, and I am so grateful for her putting up with my non-cooperative self. Someday I'll find a way to make up for it. You can find the masterpost of her magnificent work here: http://sarahwhat.tumblr.com/post/150638608031/artwork-for-heronfem-s-mini-bang-link-and-title
> 
> Next, to Maliwanhellfires and quiteanerdling, who were the cheerleaders from the get go. You two are very near and dear to me, and thank you for helping me push forward.
> 
> Finally, to my beta, my dearest Peach. I've missed you, my dear, more than you know.
> 
> \---
> 
> This was not quite what I set out to write. This is, in fact, a kink meme prompt gone haywire. You can find the original prompt here: http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/16181.html?thread=62519349#t62519349
> 
> The past few months for me have, not to put too fine a point on it, been horrifically bad for me. I've taken a lot of refuge in the natural beauty of my surroundings, the land that I was raised in and love dearly. This fic is kind of an ode to my people and how I grew up. The landscape described within this work is taken directly from life, more or less. The recipe is one that my mother has used since I was tiny, the horse training techniques ones that she taught to me. The Ataarash horses are near and dear to my heart, as they are based on the Appaloosa horse, which were nearly hunted to extinction and then brought back by a dedicated group of breeders that included my grandfather. Hiccup and Toad are based on a dam and foal known as Misty Magic and Cinnamon Bear who have been with me most of my life. Every ounce of this work is laden with meaning and history. It is a deeply personal work, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

It was a pleasant morning in a Nessum coffee shop that Maevaris Tilani slapped down a newspaper in front of Dorian and told him to look through the personal ads for a husband, as she had for the past three days.

“Yes, Mae,” Dorian sighed, picking up the paper and his coffee. Dorian had seen a great many pleas for husbands and wives since he'd left his father's home, often desperate people with children on the way and family who would be more than happy to murder them. Unfortunately, he was now among those desperately searching for a way out of Tevinter by way of a contract that would be nearly impossible to break under Tevinter law. So far he'd had no luck, as he would prefer Nevarra or Antiva, and most had been from the Marches. He scanned a few, grimacing at one obvious “alpha male” type in Markham looking for a “polite and obedient wife”, and paused at the listings for Orlais. While Orlais was not his first choice, it was feasible and not the worst place to end up.

_**MATRIMONY- M. Qunari rancher, 45, seeking husband or wife to resettle in w. Orlais. Owner of ranch, keeps several hands, spacious home. Specializes in horses, sheep, and grains. Hoping for a romantic who likes pink, sunrises, and rope tricks. The Iron Bull, Swinging B ranch, W. Orlais, 54462.** _

Maevaris sat down across from him and raised an eyebrow. Nessum looked good on her, heat making her fair skin tan. “What's caught your attention?”

“A marriage proposal,” he said slowly, looking at the word _husband_. “Western Orlais. The man is Qunari, would like either a husband or wife, it doesn't seem to matter which. Western Orlais, Mae.”

He looked up to see her biting her lip, thoughtful. He folded the paper and set it down, adjusting the soft white linen jacket he wore to fight the heat of Tevinter summer. Mae took the paper and looked over the ad, tapping her sharp nails on the table. She was exceptionally stunning that day, in a radiant blue ripple skirt and a soft white linen shirt with blue buttons to match. “This is an interesting proposition. At the very least it would get you out of the country and out of your fathers grip. Marriage contracts in Orlais are often heavily weighted to the proposing party, however, so you must be careful.” She folded the paper, considering. “Would you be willing to risk marriage with a Qunari to escape Tevinter, even with your history?”

“It's the only ad for a husband there,” he said, shrugging helplessly. “And Orlais is far better than the Marches. At least Orlais has a non-extradition policy with Tevinter, and pretends to be fashionable. Antiva _would_ be better, but this is something available now.”

“An excellent point.” Mae tapped her nails sharply, one-two-three, and nodded. “Very well. Write this The Iron Bull, and see what can be arranged. I'll begin the bribery process with the border guards.”

Dorian nodded, looking at the ad again. “What does rope tricks even _mean_?”

 

oOo

Written with an elegant, clear hand on soft paper, lightly scented with sandalwood.

_The Iron Bull,_

_My name is Dorian Pavus. I am a mage of Tevinter, well known for my work, ranked Enchanter at the Circle of Vyrantium. I will not pretend that I am well appointed, but I am competent at fighting, and have some skill with metalworking, flame, ice, and necromancy. I am aware you may pause at the necromancy, but it is an often useful skill. I am 30 years of age, quite healthy, six feet of height and pleasant to look upon, and far from opposed from relations between men. If you are amenable, please write me as soon as possible, as I am somewhat desperate to leave Tevinter. Though I love my homeland dearly, problems have arisen and I must be away as quickly as possible._

_Yours in hope,  
Dorian Pavus_

 

oOo

Written on rough, but serviceable paper in a firm, neat hand.

_Dear Dorian,_

_I was quite surprised to receive a letter so quickly. Most people do more than a little hesitating when they see the word “Qunari” pop up. I would be more than happy to marry you, and will send along paperwork shortly. My apologies for the shortness of this letter, but we're in the midst of lambing and time has been highly limited. I hope to see you soon._

_Yours,  
The Iron Bull._

 

oOo

Three weeks after Dorian sent the first letter, The Iron Bull found himself standing on the platform for the Orlais Flyer, feeling more nervous than he had since he first landed on the main continent to begin spy work. That world was far behind him, but it certainly didn't feel that way as he waited under the shade of the platform's overhang. This far out of Val Firmin it was hard to remember that the city was right there, just over a few bridges away. It was a hot day, a recent rainfall making the air humid enough to be called muggy, and the familiar sound of crickets chirping in the tall grasses made the whole day feel hazy and unreal. He shifted uncomfortably in his boots, recently shined at Krem's insistence, and fiddled with his suspenders. The soft blue shirt he wore, rolled up to the elbows, had been unbuttoned to almost the point of indecency by Orlesian standards, but it was just too damned hot for anything else.

He checked his watch, and right on time the blast of the horn echoed down the short valley. The train emerged from the tunnel, a sleek silver affair that came to a smooth halt with a rumble of gears. Passengers began disembarking and fetching luggage, and Bull looked through the crowd for anyone who looked to be Tevinter bred. There was one woman, her hair elaborately pulled up and a sheer veil over her face to keep out the dust, but she walked off with another woman from the train. The crowds were starting to thin when one last man stepped off, dressed in a soft gray linen suit with a shirt in a soft, dusty green to match. He wore a hat in the Tevinter style, high on one side and sloping down on the other, a bird's cage veil in front in a matching gray. He carried a sturdy leather bag, and winced when a trunk that had seen better days was tossed out onto the platform.

The hat's veil blew slightly too the side, and Bull had to bite back a whistle. “ _Damn_ ,” he thought, looking over the elegant cheekbones, pretty mouth, neat mustache, and gorgeous gray eyes. Pleasant to look upon indeed.

Bull stepped forward, and the man looked up. His face was well composed, the picture of polite interest, but Bull could see how his gloved hands trembled. He offered a soft smile, keeping his body language open and inviting. It was almost reassuring, knowing that Dorian was just as nervous as he was.

“Hey, handsome. You're Dorian?”

“Ah, yes, that is me,” Dorian said, managing a smile that wasn't too terrified. Better than he'd expected, honestly. “The Iron Bull, I presume?”

“That's me,” Bull said, and reached down to lift his trunk. “Ready to go?”

“Yes, please.” Dorian followed him down the steps, and paused when he saw the elegant and matched pair of Asaarash waiting with the surrey. “What a beautiful team. Do you know whose they are?”

“Vat and Tic,” Bull said, smiling. “Fire and Ice, respectively. They're ours.”

Dorian looked at him with wide eyes, and back to the surrey. It was well made and quite large, double benched with tan leather seats and the body painted white. There were tassels along the top in pale pink, and the horses had tan tack with matching tassels on the front band of their bridles.

“Oh,” he said faintly, and Bull set the trunk in the back and tied it down. “This is a beautiful carriage.”

“Wait until you see the enclosed one I have for winter,” Bull said, smiling down at him. “It seats ten, and it's pulled by a team of six.”

“ _Ten_?” Dorian shook his head in amazement, and climbed into the seat up front. Bull went around the other side, climbing in and taking up the reins. The pair's ears flicked back, listening, and he clucked once. They started immediately, in perfect time, and Dorian smiled. “It's good to see such a well trained team, and that you're easy on their mouths.”

“I prefer to be kind to the things in my care,” Bull said, relaxing back. Dorian gave him a considering look before turning his attention back to the road. The ride was incredibly smooth, the road well worn, and Dorian looked around at the forest as they slipped under the canopy of the trees.

“I confess,” he said quietly, “I was not expecting my new home to be so beautiful. I quite miss Tevinter, and my home near the coast, but the forest is glorious.”

“Took me a while to get used to it,” Bull said, feeling a stab of homesickness. “I'm from Par Vollen originally.”

“I'm from Qarinus,” Dorian said, fiddling with his gloves. “Your accent... Did you spend time in Seheron?”

“I did,” Bull said quietly, and they left it at that.

They left the forest and emerged into the plains, and Bull quietly pointed out landmarks as they passed them. They passed over a few hills, and Bull called out the team to turn left as the great beast of their gate emerged and the path diverged. There was a stone archway engraved with flowers, and the horses paused so Bull could get out and open the wrought iron gates. Dorian was looking increasingly overwhelmed, looking around at the well maintained drive wide enough for two carriages, and the soft green grasses around them.

Once they were through and the gates closed, they traveled up the drive to the house.

Bull was quite proud of their house. Two stories, it was made of local stone in a deep gray. A matching set of porches ran along the right side of the house, forming a U shaped balcony on the second floor and a U shaped patio on the bottom. In the center was the first built house, a rectangle of stone with windows set into it on each level that segued into a second porch that opened into the sitting room. Directly above was the master bedroom with a bank of windows, and on the back side of the house a smaller balcony meant for two. Massive willow trees hissed softly in the breeze, surrounding the house in what Dalish called a protection square, one at each cardinal point.

Bull murmured a halt to the horses, and climbed down. Dorian was out of the seat before Bull could help him down, looking around in fascination. Bull fetched the trunk out, and the horses headed away to the barn.

“The horses-”

“They're just going to get unhitched,” Bull said, hefting the trunk onto his shoulder. “They're smart and hungry, they'll go to the barn on their own.”

Dorian followed him up the steps to the main door, and took a moment to admire the beautifully carved mahogany. Dragons chased their tails, horses stood rampant, and Qunlat ran along the sides.

“What does it say?” Dorian asked, tracing one of the carvings.

“They're blessings of protection on the house,” Bull said, swallowing down a lump in his throat. “Requests for happiness, strength, peace. Those sorts of things.”

Dorian's expression turned vulnerable for a moment, before it was carefully composed again. “We have a similar tradition,” he said quietly. “Tiny engravings on doorhandles.”

“Perhaps we'll add them to the door,” Bull said quietly, and let Dorian open the door.

The sitting room was spacious and well appointed, with comfortable chairs, a massive fireplace, and portraits of all the Chargers on the wall. Dorian looked over them with interest, and Bull grinned with pride. “My Chargers, the hands here. Tell you what, we'll take things up to your room and then I'll give you the grand tour.”

“Sorry, my room?” Dorian looked at him, puzzled, and Bull barely held back a wince.

“I can't exactly expect you to be sleeping with me when we barely know each other,” he said, and Dorian looked mildly offended.

“Please,” he said with a wry smile. It had a bit of an edge to it. “You're far from unattractive, and I've slept with people after much less introduction.”

Bull's gut wrenched at that. It wasn't hard to picture people wheedling their way in to take advantage, with as beautiful as his husband-to-be was. “Maybe,” he said, swallowing hard to force down the scream of upset that was threatening, “but you shouldn't have to.”

Dorian considered him a moment, and removed his hat at last. His eyes, such a beautiful stormy gray, had grown soft. “The Iron Bull,” he said quietly, “you are a singularly unusual man. Is that not my purpose here? To be a comfort, a person you might be able to relax with? I assure you, I have been with a great many men and have learned well. I won't pretend that I'm not a little nervous, in this arrangement, but all I can ask is that you not beat me when I do something wrong. And, even then, under Orlesian law it appears you have the right to do so as the proposing party.”

Bull set the trunk down on the floor and walked over to him, emphasizing the size difference. Dorian swallowed hard but stayed put. The trembling of his hands gave him away, as did the faint scent of fear washing off of him. Qunari noses were strong.

“Dorian,” he said quietly, keeping his hands at his side. “I swear to you, I will never beat you. I won't ever seek to harm you in any way. I won't lie, you're fucking gorgeous and I'm stunned that you want to be mine, but this thing? It goes both ways, alright? _Vashedan_ , I swear if I ever hurt you, you can go right ahead and kill me on the spot.”

Dorian smiled a bit, cocking his head to the side to look him over. His eyes were sharp and assessing, and Bull hoped whatever he saw he found worthy. “A very strange man indeed. But thank you.”

“Of course.” Bull hesitantly reached out, and Dorian leaned into him a little and let him rest his hand on his shoulder. “You're sure this is gonna work for you? Me being Qunari and all.”

“I- well.” Dorian looked a little flustered, and drew away. “I admit, I am perhaps a tad uncertain and uncomfortable. Growing up in Qarinus we saw a great many raids from Seheron when I was young, when the fighting flared up. I had a few rather... unpleasant experiences with the antaam. But I'll be fine, you needn't worry. I'll grow accustomed to you and do the best that I can to be a good husband for you. At the very least I can be waiting and ready for you when you wish to unwind.”

Bull sighed internally. “I didn't send out for a husband to have a permanent fuck,” he said bluntly. “Shit, you're hot, but that's not what I was looking for. I just need a friend.”

“Who you sleep with.”

“Yep.” Bull shrugged. “I like sex. It's fun, it's relaxing, and everyone can have a good time if you do it right. I like making people feel good, but sometimes it's damn lonely going this without some company that's not my Chargers.”

Dorian nodded thoughtfully, and reached up to touch Bull's hand. “Well, I think that at least sexually we shall get on just fine,” he said. “Though this does feel a tad clinical. There isn't much romance to be had in most marriages, I've found. I should hope our marriage is better than the arrangement of my parents.”

“I'll do my best to romance you then,” Bull purred, and Dorian's eyes lit up with interest.

“Oh will you now?” Dorian asked, looking up coyly through his lashes. “We are going about this a bit backwards.”

“But here we are,” Bull said, rubbing a thumb over the strip of exposed skin over Dorian's collar. Dorian shivered pleasantly before stepping away, his smile a bit brighter.

“Then I'll take the second room after all, and when you've won me properly, I shall be properly yours.”

Bull grinned, picking the trunk back up. “You've got it, big guy.”

 

oOo

Dorian's room was small but pleasant, just off of the stairs up to the second floor. It was well appointed, with a soft mattress and warm blankets and pillows. A wardrobe stood in one corner, there was a window with clear glass that slid upwards and locked, and cheerful pink rugs on the floor. A desk and chair sat along the wall by the window, allowing for more light, and an empty bookcase stood beside them. Dorian watched as his new husband set his things at the end of the bed, and carefully set his carpet bag on the sturdy bedside table. An oil lamp, neatly trimmed, waited on it as well.

“I'm beginning to see a décor theme,” he said dryly, looking at the pink rug and thinking of the pink paper in the halls. The wainscotting was a dark wood with beautiful carvings on the top trim, and the furniture in the sitting room had been dark aside from the pale rose pink of their fabric. “You must love pink a great deal.”

“Pink,” The Iron Bull said with great dignity, “is _pretty_. I like pretty things. You should see my tea set collection.”

“You collect tea sets?” Dorian said, utterly baffled, and The Iron Bull grinned at him. His teeth were unnervingly sharp, but the warmth of his smile balanced them out.

“I do. Fucking love them, too, they're in a display case downstairs.” He leaned against the wall, folding his arms, and Dorian steadied his breathing at the sight of the enormous bulge of The Iron Bull's muscles.

“I believe you offered me a tour,” he said when he could look away, and from the smug grin on The Iron Bull's face his interest had not gone unnoticed. His face heated, and he was fervently grateful that his complexion didn't allow for blushing to show. The Iron Bull gave a deliberate blink, and Dorian paused. “Did- Did you just try to _wink_ at me? You have one eye! It's like an extended blink!”

“But you _did_ get the message,” The Iron Bull said cheekily, and waved him out the door. Cheeks still flaming hot, Dorian stepped back out into the hall.

The stairs opened up to a long hallway that jogged a little around Dorian's room which was to the front of the house, and looped around the house with the doors to the patio opening with double doors along each wall.

“The second floor is all bedrooms,” The Iron Bull started, beginning down the hall. “Your room is the only one left from the oldest part of the house, what they called the saltbox when it was built. It was just that rectangle with a point, but then the additions happened and the rest is history.” They continued along the hall, and Dorian looked at the doors to the opposite side of his with interest. “Each of these rooms butts up against another, back to back. There's six in all.” They turned the corner to the shorter part of the U, and Bull nodded at an open, airy room with glass doors that revealed a small sitting room done in a pretty, dusty blue. “That's the receiving room. It's a common area for when people visit.” He opened the double doors out to the balcony and Dorian stepped out, admiring the view.

“This is quite a beautiful home,” he said, running his hands over the railing.

“We've worked hard to make it so,” The Iron Bull said, and they stepped back inside. The rest of the U was identical to the other side, down to a little room that stuck out like Dorian's, but this room was actually a sewing room complete with large sewing machine and a few dress dummies in custom sizes.

“I have to make some of my own things,” The Iron Bull said with a grin, and Dorian hid his smile. “I'm a little big for the tailors in Val Firmin.”

“And there you go with that blinking again.”

The Iron Bull laughed and led him down the other stairs, and they emerged into the back hall. A door led directly outside, and there was a tiny hallway to the right. They turned, and The Iron Bull pointed out the coat closet under the stairs. They passed into a wide dining room with a glorious mahogany table and chairs big enough to seat twelve, and The Iron Bull noted the leaves that could be added so it fit twenty. There were a number of china cabinets, all of which held various delicate items, and they turned through an archway, down a hall, and into a massive kitchen that housed three stoves, an ice chest, a sink almost big enough to bathe in, and cupboards on the walls. A breadbox big enough for baguettes was mounted on one wall, and cork boards full of missives had been tacked above one of the counters. A small door led into the mud room, which was kept quite neat, and The Iron Bull led him through another door into a hallway that led both out to the other porch, and back to the main room.

“And where is the master room?” Dorian asked.

“Hidden,” The Iron Bull said with a grin, and led him along the little hallway. He turned into another coat closet, this one rather large, and Dorian's eyes widened as he pulled down the lamp to open a secret door that silently slid into the wall and revealed stairs. The Iron Bull waved him forward, and he began the ascent, stunned.

“Oh,” Dorian breathed as he reached the top, staring around with wide eyes.

The room was almost entirely surrounded in windows. A changing screen sat in the corner, a huge fireplace and beautiful mantle was along one side, and the biggest bed he'd ever seen was pressed against one wall. A trunk was at the end of it, and along the windowsills, some deep enough to sit in and read, were soft cushions and little trinkets. A chandelier hung from the ceiling, wrought iron, with delicate rose quartz hanging from it. A small room was attached, and Dorian looked in to find an actual, personal bathing room.

“This is beyond beautiful,” he said helplessly, turning back to The Iron Bull. “I don't even know what to say.”

The Iron Bull smiled, scratching at a horn. “Well, one day we'll share it for good,” he said easily. “Just wait til then to say what you need.”

Dorian shook his head, smiling.

“The windows have shutters above them that can slide down to cover them,” The Iron Bull said, walking over and pulling a chain that dangled by one of the windows. Dorian's eyebrows shot up as wood rolled down, like the top of a desk, and fit neatly over the window to block it out as if it had never been there. “I use them during most of the winter, or when I want to change up the look of the room a little.”

“Impressive,” Dorian murmured, and The Iron Bull led him over to another wall. This one had a door handle, and The Iron Bull turned it, only to slide it into the wall like the other. Dorian's eyes widened as he realized they were directly across from his room.

“Incredible,” he breathed, stepping out. The Iron Bull closed the door, and nodded to the lamp.

“Pull here,” he said, pointing to a little curl in the working of it, “and the door will open. You're welcome in my room whenever you'd like.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said, overwhelmed, and The Iron Bull smiled. “Your house is magnificent.”

The Iron Bull grinned down at him, and Dorian caught a touch of relief in his eyes as he said, “I hope you're gonna like it here. Welcome home, Dorian.”

Dorian chuckled, and let The Iron Bull wrap an arm around his waist as they walked down the stairs.

 

oOo

The barn and outbuildings were kept to Antaam standards, in perfect condition and swept clean. Dorian looked over the horses with interest as they passed through the barn out to the corral. Krem was out on his Ferelden warmblood, putting him through his paces while Skinner and Dalish watched. Bull smiled proudly as Dorian whistled lowly, watching as Krem directed his gelding with just his legs and vocal commands.

“Looking good Krem,” Bull called, and Krem wheeled to ride towards the fence. The others emerged from the sheep barn, looking over at Dorian. Dorian held perfectly still, and Bull noticed out of the corner of his eye how decidedly relaxed he looked despite how stiff he was standing. He casually rested his hand in the small of Dorian's back, and Dorian carefully breathed out.

“So,” Krem said, leaning in and resting on the saddle pommel as he looked over Dorian with his lips in a thin line. “Got yourself a husband after all. Is he just another mouth to feed or is he here to be useful?”

“Shut it, Krem,” Stitches said sharply. “Leave him be.”

Dorian had gone stiff under Bull's hand, and gave the group a dazzling smile though Bull could smell the fear on him. “Hello. I suppose introductions are due. Dorian Pavus, most recently of Minrathous.”

“Pavus, huh?” Krem mused, his eyes narrowing. “Great.” He sat up, clicking to his gelding and wheeling around.

“Ignore him,” Rocky said gruffly. “He's just being a little shit. I'm Rocky. Demolitions expert and sheep wrangler.” He thumbed over his shoulder at Grim, who looked on with about as much interest as he showed anything. “That's Grim. He doesn't talk much. He works with sheep too.”

“Stitches,” Stiches offered dryly. “I'm the medic here for everything from people to chickens.”

“I'm Dalish, this is Skinner,” Dalish said brightly. Skinner grunted.

“They work with our horses, mostly. Dalish is our... archer,” Bull said, nodding to the totally-not-a-staff on Dalish's back. “Skinner does what Skinner does best.”

Dorian looked mildly queasy until Rocky clarified, “She's our butcher.”

“Ah, I see. And my former countryman?”

“Cremisius Aclassi,” Bull said, feeling a swell of pride. “My business partner. He handles more of the business end of it while I ride around having fun. He's a good guy when he's not being an ass about things.”

Dorian managed a smile but the skin around his eyes was taut. He seemed a few seconds away from overwhelmed.

“We're going to head back in, let him unwind a little,” he said, wrapping an arm around Dorian's shoulders and reeling him in. Dorian pressed into him heavily, and waved at the others before letting Bull lead him back towards the house.

“We didn't have to go,” he said quietly as they reached the end of the barn.

“You're dead on your feet,” Bull said softly. “It's been a long day. Rest a little bit, I'll bring you up some food so you can relax and get settled.”

Dorian leaned his head in, a small smile lighting his face. “Thank you for your kindness. Ah, and... when are we to be married?”

“When would you suggest?”

Dorian sighed. “Soon, I think.”

“D'you want a big wedding?”

Dorian hesitated a half second before saying, “No, a small ceremony would be fine. You can hardly spare the work on a place this large. Fetch a sister, whichever hands are available, and we'll call that good.”

Bull frowned but let it go, and let Dorian disappear to his room before going to the kitchen. Krem was there, sitting at the little table, and Bull leaned on the doorway. Krem was industriously checking his bridle, going over the leather to check for wear.

“You don't like him,” he said without ceremony.

“He's a fucking 'Vint, of course I don't like him.” Krem set the bridle down, turning to him. “You couldn't just write to Val Royeaux and list how much you were worth, could you? You'd be crawling in applicants. But you had to get a fucking 'Vint, and a much Vintier Vint than me. You saw his clothes, his suit practically screams where he's from.”

“Never said anything about it besides from Qarinus.” Bull shifted his weight, and Krem scowled.

“Well, he's off running around the ass end of Orlais getting hitched to a fucking Qunari,” he snapped. “What, you think he's just some Soporati street rat who's literally crossed Thedas on a whim? You should send him packing right back home, is what you should do. Get yourself some nice busty redhead out of Val Firmin and call it good. No good'll come from this, you're just inviting trouble into our home after we worked so damn hard to make it one.”

Bull waited for Krem's angry breathing to die down before saying, “So you're mad.”

“Yes,” Krem snarled. “I'm fucking furious. He's not Soporati, if he's a mage. He's Laetan or Alti, and nothing fucks up the gears more than high class magister brats.”

“He practically begged me to take him,” Bull said quietly. “And he was the only one willing to take a shot with me. I've been looking for five months and he was the only one to write.”

Krem deflated a bit, rubbing his forehead. The room fell quiet but for the ticking of the clock on the wall, and Krem fiddled with the leather before saying, “And you just told me you were looking last month?”

“It was a long shot,” Bull said quietly, sitting in the other chair. “I couldn't keep going into town just for a bit of relaxing with the locals.”

Krem gave him a long look out of the corner of his eye, lips tight.

“Bull, what do you think a husband even is?”

Bull shrugged, frowning. “I don't know, someone you live with and have paperwork binding the two of you.”

“Bull, you just described _me_.”

“Well, are we married then?”

“ _NO_.”

Bull laughed at the look of pure offense on Krem's face, leaning back in his chair. “Hey now, Krem, no need to get so wound up. I know you're strictly for the ladies.”

“Damn right,” Krem muttered, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “Fuck you, Chief.”

Bull chuckled, and Krem shook his head.

“I think a husband is a friend,” Bull said after a minute, tapping his damaged fingers on the table. “A partner. A person who helps me while I help them. I think that's right.”

“In Tevinter,” Krem said dryly, “your husband would be taking on the wife's role. At least in my class. Cooking, cleaning, working where necessary while you're out and about. Alti and Laetan wives have to be perfect hostesses, always perfect dolls ready at the drop of a hat to entertain unless they're magisters or really high class nobles themselves and then they're just as powerful and above such things.” He shrugged. “Well, we do need a cook, and he can keep the house in order. Pretty little thing like that, with those soft hands? I'm sure he's never done hard work in his life. Let him get them dirty.”

“But-”

“He needs a job if he's going to stay,” Krem said firmly. “We have mouths that need feeding, and one more will put some strain on the budget. Even if he only cooks for you until he learns.”

“Only for me?” Bull asked, and Krem smirked.

“Damn right. You can suffer through the burnt meals until he figures it out. He's _your_ responsibility.”

Bull snorted, crossing his arms. “He's not some pet I dragged home, Krem.”

“Nope,” Krem said, standing up. “But he's still your problem. You should go check on the sheep.”

Bull hefted himself up and headed out through the mud room, while Krem went to the breadbox for a roll.

oOo

Dorian had been quietly trying not to hyperventilate on his new (very pleasant) bed when there was a knock on the door. Sitting up, he hurriedly brushed himself down and composed himself before going to the door and pulling it open with a polite smile. The smile became a rictus when he saw Krem there, hands shoved in his pockets and eyeing him darkly.

“Ah,” he managed, clearing his throat. “How might I help you?”

“Pavus,” Krem said flatly. “I know what you are. How's an Alti brat come running from a cushy home in Minrathous to the ass end of Orlais, unless he's being chased? You bring trouble to my door and don't think I won't cut you down where you stand.”

Dorian's mouth went dry, and he self consciously tugged at his left sleeve, making certain it covered his wrist. “Of course. I-I understand.”

“Good. And since Bull's too nice to do it, let me give you the run down of what you'll be doing here,” Krem said, his voice icy. “You'll cook, you'll clean, you'll keep the house in fucking order, and when you need to, you'll be out helping us muck out horse stables and sheep pens. One of us says jump, you say how high and do it. We have no room for extra mouths who can't work, and so you will learn to work. You'll cook for Bull until you get it right, and then you'll cook for the rest of us.”

“I- I can't cook,” Dorian said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Then I suggest you figure it out,” Krem said flatly. “You stay, you work. I don't care if Bull wants a nice little house husband to swan about and be a decoration, you'll see plenty of hard labor here, end of story.” He looked him over with obvious disdain, and Dorian had never felt so small in his life. “And don't go crying to him if you can't handle yourself. He doesn't need that kind of distraction.”

“Of course,” Dorian said, the words strangled. It was all too much, and as Krem walked away he closed the door and sank back against it, biting back the sobs that were threatening to burst out of him.

He had never felt so alone in his life.


	2. Chapter 2

To: Professeur agrégé Felix Alexius, s.E, Ph.D, etc,  
c/o The University of Orlais-Val Royeaux,  
Mathematics Department  
115 Rue Chambard, VR, Orlais  
89995-8372

Dearest Felix;

Please note that my new address is indeed correct. I am living on a ranch outside of Val Firmin (quite far from Val Firmin, in fact), and am now married. I am Dorian Taurus _née_ Pavus, as the Orlesian's say. Dorian Bull, rather than Dorian Peacock, and I am still not certain if I like the change. But I am safely away from Tevinter, a fact which causes me great joy. Now I simply have to prove my worth to my new husband so he doesn't just ship me off at the first sign that I'm trouble. I'm not sure my heart would be able to take the strain. Aside from my rather permanent anxieties and the bouts of great depression that I have sunk into and bounced out of since late, I am physically well. My scars are healing well enough, and he has been kind enough not to force me into his bed, and respected all of my boundaries. I know! Such a gift, in a husband.

Felix, I must however tell you that my husband is somewhat odd. He is a wealthy and accomplished rancher, this is true enough, but Felix. My husband is Qunari.

He is called The Iron Bull, and he is certainly a man like unto iron. Strong enough, but he still bends. He bears my fumbling with great patience, and brought me home a book that I might learn to cook a bit better. There are a great many spices here for my use though I am quite abysmal at cooking, and I miss the taste of home like nothing I can describe. I feel ripped apart by the loss of Qarinus, with her crying gulls and sweet salt spray. Go and light candles for me in the Chantry, that I might learn to love my new place.

The ceremony was very quiet, just us and two of the hands in the front room while a sister said the words and looped some knots over our arms. It was over quickly, and then Bull had to return to the fields. I have never yet felt so alone, not even at Brazenial's, and that was a truly miserable time for me.

Please keep me in your thoughts, dear heart. I need all the prayers and love I can receive.

Yours with great affection,  
Dorian Taurus

 

oOo

“Shit,” Dorian snapped as he grabbed the pot with heated hands and moved it to the counter top, where thankfully a trivet was waiting. The soup was far from pleasantly colored, but at least this time it hadn't turned black. He let the pot rest and picked up the cook book, glaring at the recipe. _Boil for five minutes or until tender,_ the book said helpfully, and he snarled another curse before banishing the heat from his hands and sitting at a stool on the other side of the counter.

Until tender? What did that even _mean_? How could soup be tender? It was soup!

He let out a muted scream and clutched his hair before forcing himself to calm down and reread the recipe. All of the ingredients were correct (thank the Maker), he had done the approximately correct amount of time for cooking (five minutes), he had stirred occasionally so it didn't burn (again), and he had removed from heat to cool. Nothing said it should be brown.

Sighing, he stood up and fetched a spoon to taste it.

The worst part of cooking for himself and Bull was the fact that he also had to eat his own ungodly creations. While Bull would choke it down with a polite, if strained smile, Dorian was openly miserable about it. He stirred the soup a few times and ladled out a bit, sipping it gingerly.

For once, it wasn't horrible. Perhaps a bit bland, but not horrible.

The door creaked open from the mudroom and Krem ducked inside, raising an eyebrow when he saw Dorian at the counter.

“Soup again?”

Dorian glared at the pot. “Yes.”

“Any luck?”

Dorian grunted, and Krem laughed, perching on the stool Dorian had just vacated. After the first few days of Dorian's residence, Krem had thawed a little towards him and no longer actively glowered whenever he saw him. Now, a week in, he seemed to have decided that no one who wasn't serious would put in the amount of effort Dorian did at being even somewhat useful.

“Here, let me try some.”

Dorian eyed him suspiciously. “Just yesterday you told me pigs would appreciate my cooking more.”

“Yeah, well, you're trying.”

Dorian sighed heavily and handed him the ladle, and Krem sipped thoughtfully. Dorian was quietly grateful that he at least swallowed it, instead of spitting it out on first taste as had happened the first time he'd tried to cook anything.

“Could be worse,” Krem said, handing the ladle back. “Pretty bland though. Get the black pepper and salt, and the cayenne.”

Dorian did so, bringing the bottles over and opening them.

“Grind the pepper in three times,” Krem instructed, and Dorian obliged. “Put in three pinches of salt- pinch it between your fingers, yes, and two of the cayenne.”

Dorian did so, closed up the bottles, and stirred the soup again before trying it once more. The flavor was much improved, and he sagged in relief. For once, they wouldn't have a miserable dinner. The vegetables in it were still a little tough, but it could have been much worse. Krem watched him put things away, and cocked his head as Dorian began industriously scrubbing down the other pots, knives, and cutting board in the sink.

“Wouldn't have thought a pretty thing like you would know much about cleaning dishes,” Krem said, and Dorian laughed bitterly.

“Before I left Tevinter, I was researching the Blight,” he said, a touch nostalgic. “It's amazing, how clean you learn to keep places where a live disease could infect you at any moment. I was also studying theoretical time magic, and a few of our attempts had rather explosive results. Gereon wasn't about to do any of the cleaning, and he didn't allow anyone but us in the lab, so I got to learn all about disinfectants and handling hazardous materials from the servants. House Alexius was small, but they kept no slaves and kept a great many servants, and they thought it was hilarious to watch me struggle to mop floors. Gereon made me practice in the main hall on the marble. It became something of a spectator sport.” He smiled, setting the knife in the dishdrain and scrubbing the cutting board. “I miss them a great deal.”

“Why'd you have to leave, if it was such a cushy gig?”

Dorian's hands slipped a little, but he steadied himself. “It wasn't my choice to leave.”

“Whose choice was it?”

_A gentle hand, soft on the back of his neck, quiet words in his ear as he tried to pull away but was helpless to move, panic and bile boiling in his stomach-_

“-ian?”

He snapped back to reality and realized that his hands were steaming in the water. Immediately, ice began coating the surface of the water and he yanked his hands out, stepping back and breathing heavily as he forced himself to steady. Krem walked around the counter slowly, watching him carefully.

“Dorian,” he said quietly, keeping his voice low and gentle like he would with a skittish horse, “you okay there?”

Dorian drew in a shuddering breath and nodded, forcing a smile. “Ah, yes, silly me. I'm fine, just got wrapped up in my own thoughts you know.” He stepped back to the sink and reheated the water, rinsing off the cutting board and setting it in the dishdrain. The dishes now finished, he pulled the plug and let the water drain away. The water swirled and he felt vaguely nauseous, quickly looking away.

He was wiping his hands on a towel when Krem said, quietly, “I was in the army, in Tevinter. I know what battle sickness looks like. People can get it even if they're not fighters.”

“I'm fine,” Dorian said, not looking at him. “I won't let it interfere with my work.”

“Sometimes sickness like that doesn't give you that choice.”

“I'm _fine_ ,” Dorian insisted, his hands shaking. “It doesn't matter. It doesn't happen very often, and I won't talk about it around Bull, I promise. It-” he sighed, straightening up. “I don't get lost like that very often.”

Krem frowned, leaning on the counters. “If you were attacked, got hurt in any way you associate with sex, you should tell Bull. He's careful about it.”

Dorian felt his cheeks heat up and quickly looked away. He was a sexual person, he wouldn't deny it, but saying things so openly was still shocking. “That was not a problem for me. I...I've been with a great many men, but they've never hurt me. At least not in ways that matter.”

“Glad to hear it,” Krem said, a little subdued. “It's something I have to work through. There's no shame in it.”

Dorian looked back over at him, shocked. “What?” He couldn't picture rough and tumble Krem being subdued by anyone.

“I'm a man, but my parents didn't know that,” Krem said, shrugging. “My body looked like the usual baby girl, so that was what they called me. I got trained to be a merchant's wife, with all the dresses and curtsies and bows in my hair, and I was trained in how to please a man to make me more valuable to the ones paraded through my family's home. Fucked me up, I don't mind telling you.”

“That's horrific,” Dorian said quietly.

“Damn right it is,” Krem said calmly. “Bull helped me get my head on straight about it, helped me so I'd stop feeling so shitty about putting my hands on a woman. Men are fine, but they're not for me. Just like women aren't for you, I suspect.”

“Your suspicions are correct,” Dorian said, leaning on the counter. “Why are you telling me this?”

Krem sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I tend to see the Tevinter first and the person later,” he said. “And you might still be a spoiled brat but you're here to stay, and it's better if we're civil. Every time we talk you do this- _thing_ , where you say something all sharpish and snarky and then you squish it down and get quiet again. You're being who you think I want you to be instead of yourself, and that's bullshit.”

“What's bullshit?”

Dorian and Krem both jumped as Bull came through the mud room door, looking them over with a grin.

“You,” Krem said dryly. “And your puns.”

“Aw, come on Krem-de-la-creme, you're just sore because they're _hilarious_.” Bull attempted a wink, and laughed when the pair of them snorted in unison.

“Those boots of yours better be back in the mudroom,” Dorian warned, eyeing him. “Stop tracking mud in the kitchen.”

“Yeah, yeah, they're off.” Bull came around the counter, and Dorian shooed him away from the soup. “When's dinner?”

“As soon as I can plate things and get rolls out,” Dorian said, fighting the shake in his hands and clasping them behind himself. His nose wrinkled as the stench of the outdoors hit him. “Vishante kaffas, please go and bathe!”

“You want to watch?” Bull teased, wiggling his eyebrows.

Krem laughed as Dorian said indignantly, “No, I do not. I'd much rather stand upwind.”

“Human sweat smells like pork that's been sitting in the sun,” Bull said as he walked out of the kitchen. “Juuust saying.”

“That would be an insult, but I know how much you love meat,” Dorian said, and Bull burst out laughing as he headed down the hall.

Krem clapped Dorian on the shoulder, squeezing once before leaving as well.

 

oOo

The wedding ceremony itself had been short to the point of icy. Grim and Krem were the witnesses, Dorian had stumbled over the unfamiliar call back of the vows, and the knot that joined their hands had pulled the rope bitingly tight around his wrist. Dorian had been informed of his duties as the accepting partner under Orlesian law (namely to be obedient to the proposing partner and remember his place, which had made his stomach churn) and then the rope was neatly put away and he'd been left to his own devices while the others went back outside to work.

Two weeks had passed since then, two weeks of struggling to cook, endless cleaning, and more physical work than he had ever done in his life.

And two weeks of waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Bull- and he insisted that Dorian didn't have to say his full name every time he addressed him- had never once laid a finger on him in any way that wasn't merely pleasant. Dorian had no idea what to think. There had yet to be any consummation of the marriage, which Dorian was fairly certain was a requirement everywhere and not just Tevinter, but perhaps Bull had decided he didn't want a mage in his bed after all. Dorian had been outside the dining room when he heard Bull rumbling on about the horror of demons and the danger of possession with mages around, and pure fear had gripped him. He knew that mage husbands in Orlais were permitted, but their “price” in dowry was extremely low. If Bull decided that a mage was too difficult, Dorian could be sent away with no recourse but to return to Tevinter. No one would take a divorced, male mage.

He prowled about his room, wishing Bull would just get it over with and take him to bed.

Things would be simpler that way.

Of course, he could _go_ to Bull's bed. He'd been invited.

Dorian sat down hard on his chair and wrestled with himself. He had to be cunning about his place here. He knew Orlesians liked their mistresses lively and passionate, Antivans preferred ferociously devoted partners, Rivaini partnerships were equal and often full of deep devotion, Fereldans always wanted sturdy minds and bodies to withstand the harsh life, and Marchers seemed to want people quiet and out of the way. But Qunari didn't have partners-

At that thought he froze, his mind fixing on _Qunari_ and reminding him exactly what was done to mages.

He had seen Saarebas before. Huge, hulking Qunari, leashed and masked, following behind a straightbacked member of the Antaam in armor with long braids had been a common sight during Qarinus raids. He'd heard the horror stories of what happened to those who needed the full muzzling- tongues cut out and lips sewn together. The collars they had worn looked heavy and uncomfortable, hiding their faces from the world.

Perhaps that was what Bull expected. A quiet, docile husband, obedient to his whims. Dorian's very soul wanted to shrivel up at the idea. He wanted to be none of those things, but what he wanted most was to not be shipped back to Tevinter. He would just have to be careful and cater to Bull's expectations.

 _But for how long_ , his mind whispered, and he firmly squashed the thought.

To avoid his father he could last eternities.

And in the meantime, he would be as perfect a sexual partner as he could manage, because he was _not_ going to let an opportunity like Bull get distracted by a mistress before he could get settled down and secure his place. Bull was handsome and charming, and it wouldn't take him more than a few minutes to find a willing partner even if he walked into a Chantry. Perhaps especially if he walked into a Chantry, come to that.

Dorian took a deep breath, and stood from his chair. A quick check to the mirror and he nodded approvingly, opening a few buttons of his shirt to bare his chest, and brushed down the soft grey pants he wore. He had conceded to Nessum fashion while there in order to hide better, but he missed the tightly tailored things of Minrathous. He wished he could roll up his sleeves, but left them down. He would tell Bull tonight, and if he was thrown out, well, then it was only a few weeks of his life lost.

He slipped out of the door just as Krem came up the stairs, and froze. Krem looked him over and grinned.

“Have a good time,” he drawled, and Dorian's cheeks went hot as Krem sauntered past to his own room.

Infuriating man.

He pulled on the curl of the sconce, and the door slid open into the wall. He slipped inside, closing it behind him, and Bull looked up from where he was lounging on the bed in horrendously oversized red and green striped pants. He'd been reading, a monocle neatly placed in his eye, and Dorian couldn't quite help his smile at the sight.

“Have I interrupted you?”

Bull slowly closed the book, taking the monocle out. “You're way more interesting.”

Dorian preened a bit, stepping further into the room. Bull's eye roved over him, unabashedly hungry, and Dorian licked his lips. “I thought that you and I might get to know each other a little better. In the physical sense.”

“You'll get no complaints from me,” Bull said, standing up and setting the book aside. Dorian walked over to meet him halfway, feeling a spike of heat when they stood together. He was so damnably predictable, but he always had been more interested in men of the Bull's build- heavy, certainly, with lots of muscle there, and that Maker-taken confidence in themselves that came of knowing just who they were. They'd been hard to find in Tevinter. Dorian, by the standards of his people, was quite tall and broad., and finding people much larger than him had been an exhausting chore.

“So,” Dorian said carefully, “There is something I have to tell you first.”

Bull frowned, but nodded.

Dorian unbuttoned his left cuff then stopped, swallowing hard.

“Please understand,” he said carefully, staring at the floor, “I- my arms are scarred, and not by my own making.” Bull went still, and Dorian clutched at his wrist, struggling to breathe evenly before he continued. “There was a incident with my family that led to my having to leave Tevinter, but I swear to you that I have never been a blood mage and I never will be. There are some other scars as well, from- from other things. But please understand, I have never touched blood magic and I never will.

“Okay,” Bull said, reaching over to gently unbutton the other cuff. “I believe you.”

“Thank you,” Dorian whispered, and pulled off his shirt. His torso was fine, his biceps as well, but then his forearms emerged, long scars running down each. Bull took the shirt from him and gently ran his fingers down each arm, cataloging where the scars sat. Dorian had been very lucky not to bleed to death. He had fought his father hard, and the knife had cut wrong as he struggled.

“An incident with your family, you said,” Bull said quietly, looking down at the scars.

“I try not to think about it,” Dorian said softly. “I also do my best to wear long sleeves, so others have no reason to judge me. I'm a mage from Tevinter, after all. No matter how many times I proclaim my innocence, there will be people who only see the horrible magister and do what they believe is their duty- namely, harass me half to death. On the train ride here I was yelled at and accosted numerous times.”

Bull huffed out a sigh. “That's shit, and you know it, right?”

“I am aware, yes,” Dorian said, a bit of a smile in his voice. “But I am also aware how the South sees my people, and I expected much worse than a few shoves and cruel words.”

Bull hummed, lifting his arm and kissing over the scars. Dorian wasn't sure what to make of such gentleness, and so simply stayed put rather than fighting him.

“I had rather planned to have you fuck me,” he said after a moment, and Bull's eye flicked up to him, a smile on his lips. “I'm hardly some delicate virgin in need of deflowering, and frankly I think we're both more than a little pent up. So, husband, would you kindly take me to bed properly?”

Bull's eyebrow raised, and his mouth twitched into a smile.

“I think I can do that, yeah.”

“Good.” Dorian swallowed hard, and slowly rucked his shirt from his trousers. Bull held up his hand and Dorian froze, uncertain.

“Hold up,” he said, his voice still gentle. “If you want to stop at any time, for any reason, just say the word.”

Dorian relaxed, a wave of relief rolling through him. “Oh, good. My watchword is 'katoh'.”

A smile crept onto Bull's face. “Well well. Can't say I expected that.” The atmosphere lightened, and Dorian actually smiled. “So, what're you into?”

“I like ropes,” Dorian said, feeling a bit of hope spring up. “Hot wax, sometimes. Breathplay, with the right partner. Um- I like riding crops, but not paddles or being hit in any other way. Just the crops. Clamps, toys, the usual.”

Bull whistled, and walked over to the closet to open the door and pull out a trunk. He opened the lock and flipped it open for Dorian to examine. Then it was Dorian's turn to whistle, and he pulled out a pair of extremely well made cuffs and a coil of beautiful red rope.

“Well then,” he said thoughtfully. “Where shall we start?”

 

oOo

Bull rose early in the morning alone in bed, and dressed in the quiet pre-dawn with a lantern for company. Dorian had apparently disappeared in the night after a thoroughly wild romp ( _three times!_ ), with only a pair of rather silky underthings on Bull's chair in memorial. Outside the great bay of windows, a quiet world sat waiting in the last exhalation of night. Bull blew out the light and descended the stairs, heading down the hall and pausing when he heard quiet cursing. There was a faint light in the kitchen, and he crept forward to peer around the frame.

Dorian stood at the range, prodding at an egg in a frying pan. Bacon had been placed on a plate, slightly more well done than Bull usually liked, and toast that was only a little underdone. Dorian hissed another curse, jumping as the egg made a popping noise, and Bull stepped into the doorway to watch, touched. He was usually on his own for breakfast. Dorian had essentially been a ghost in the house, always where Bull wasn't, and Bull had never seen him out and about before 8 o'clock before. Lunch was usually ready on time, and dinner was always at 6 prompt. But breakfast... that was new, and welcome.

“Will you just- _stop it_ ,” Dorian snapped, and clicked his fingers. The flames in the range calmed, and Dorian took a slow, calming breath. The flames flickered softly, evening out, and Dorian neatly flipped the egg onto the toast and laid some of the bacon on it before putting the other piece on top. Apparently content with his work, he turned, and all but jumped out of his skin when he saw Bull.

“How did you-” he started to demand, eyes wide, then Bull watched as he abruptly shut down, hard. Instead of the fiery man who had been there a moment ago was a stranger, politely bringing him the sandwich on a plate. “I'm sorry. I know it's not much, I'll try to do better.”

Bull would admit to being spooked at first, but he carefully reached out, stroking Dorian's cheek with his thumb. He could see an attempt at being the “correct” role when he saw it, and the best thing to do would be to upend that before it could become a routine. “Good morning,” he said softly, and there was a flash of surprise before it was shut down. Dorian looked up at him, and Bull kept his tone gentle as he said, “Would you like to watch the sunrise with me?”

This time the surprise stayed, and Bull smiled as Dorian breathed out a yes.

There was a small rise near the house where poppies grew in the summer, and where Bull often brought a blanket to nap in the sun, letting the heat leach into his bones. He brought two blankets with them, and laid one out on the grass as the darkness began to grow lighter. Dorian settled down beside him, and after a moment of hesitation Bull let an arm rest around his side, pulling him in a little. Dorian curled into his side like a touch starved cat, settling comfortably in beside him, and Bull wrapped the second blanket around him against the cold. The poppies swayed in the breeze, brilliant red petals ruffling in the predawn light.

“I used to come and watch the sunrise in Vyrantium with a dear friend of mine,” Dorian said softly, eyes fixed on the horizon. “He's since moved to Orlais as well, but he would always drag me out of bed infernally early so we could see the sunrise over the bay. He's a mathematician, and he loved to mark precisely when the sun rose and do math around the elegance of it all. He's quite a talented man, if utterly and wonderfully ridiculous.”

Bull chuckled, heart warming a little. This seemed more like the real Dorian, a bit of fondness and a quick tongue making his words less measured and a bit more alive, for lack of a better term.

“Would you want him to come out and visit some day?” he asked, and Dorian started, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes.

“If you wouldn't mind,” he said hopefully, and Bull grinned at him.

“Course not. This is your home too, Dorian, you should have whoever you'd like here.” Bull rubbed his arm, and Dorian smiled a little, settling back down against him.

The sun was slowly starting to coast over the horizon, tentative fingers of light stroking the hills. Bull sighed, feeling his soul settle inside of his heart, and said quietly, “I used to watch the sunrise in Seheron as well. One of the few bright spots of my day was seeing the sun come up and knowing I'd made it another night. So I come out here in the mornings now. Helps me remember that Seheron is a long, long ways away.”

“How long were you stationed there?” Dorian asked, settling a little better against his shoulder as the clouds began to turn a soft gold.

“Ten years. Most people left at two.” Bull couldn't quite hold back his shudder, and Dorian placed a tentative hand on his arm.

“I'm sorry to bring up memories better left dead.”

“Nah.” Bull smiled, nodding at the sunrise. “Look. It's another day.”

Dorian smiled, watching as the sun spilled warm light over the wide fields. “So it is.”


	3. Chapter 3

To: Dorian Taurus née Pavus  
Swinging B Ranch  
Val Firmin, W. Orlais,   
54462-3772

Dorian;

I had to reread your letter quite a few times before my mind could comprehend it. Married? I can only assume that you have very important reasons for doing so, as the very idea boggles my mind. As I recall, you swore up and down that there would be none of that nonsense for you. But I suppose necessity is the mother of all ideas, and you must be truly desperate to be doing this. I worry about what must have driven you to this, but I know such things must wait, or perhaps never be said. You always were so secretive, I don't blame you in the least if you decide that this is one secret you can keep forever.

How is your new husband? You say he is kind, but you know I fret about this sort of thing. Let us be honest, you have called a great many people kind even as they were harming you. But Maevaris has sent me a letter as well, saying that I'm to tell you that she spoke to her cousin-in-law, Varric Tethras, and he has vouched for him. Apparently they know each other, though how is far beyond me. When last I heard, Tethras was raising havoc in Kirkwall. Why must we have such well connected and terrifying friends? Maevaris is a singular woman, an unholy terror, and a fabulous dinner hostess. Ah, but how I would love to sweep her off her feet just to see her off balance for the novelty of it! I rather think she might suplex me for trying, however, and I like my spine inside of me. Not only that, but I have the approximate strength of a half dead hen, so I won't be lifting anyone at all.

You know that I love you dearly, and I hope that you are happy or can be happy in your new home. If he does not wish for a meek little mouse of a husband, perhaps you might convince him that you would like a horse. I know how much you love to ride, and that may give you a chance to feel a little freedom. 

Please be careful, amicus, and please know that should you ever need me for anything, I will be there.

Yours,  
Felix Alexius

oOo

After the morning they watched the sun rise, Dorian began paying better attention to his husband.

The Iron Bull was gentle, and frankly, Dorian was at a loss.

He didn't seem to want the quiet, meek husband that Dorian had expected, but had given Dorian no direction aside from that. He seemed to genuinely want Dorian to be himself, which was frankly ridiculous. There was no Void-taken way that Dorian would dare be himself around a husband legally allowed to beat him. He'd be black and blue within a week, and he didn't want to upset the person who could most easily punish him or send him back to Tevinter.

He kept out of the way as much as possible, and would have continued to do so forever until he walked out to the barn to look for Bull, intending to ask what he wanted for dinner that evening.

The stables were actually quite nice, and kept so clean that Dorian didn't mind being out there at all. Vat and Tic shoved their heads over the doors, nickering at him, and he walked over to stroke their blazes. They were such a pretty pair, and very gentle. He had missed the stables of his home, and felt a little better out among the animals. Even the sheep, occasionally baffling in their sheer stupidity, had warmed up to him enough to let him stroke their soft wool and nibbled at his shirt sometimes. Vat shoved his face in Dorian's chest, huffing softly as Tic nosed his arm.

“I'm sorry, I didn't bring any treats,” Dorian said fondly, scratching behind Tic's ears. They were very fond of the hard little apples that grew out in an abandoned orchard near the little ridge Bull liked to nap on. “None for you, not today.”

Voices altered him to others in the barn, and he turned only to be pulled back by Vat's massive head resting on his shoulder. 

“-a new hand,” Krem was saying, his tone sharp and frustrated. “We can't keep this up.”

“You know we don't have the money for it right now.” There was Bull, his voice a low rumble.

“We also don't have the money for doctoring if something goes wrong. Stitches is good, but there's only so much he can do if he's exhausted. Do _you_ want a tired surgeon?”

Bull sighed, and a chair creaked worryingly. “I'll see if I can go over the books again,” he said, his voice heavy. “There might be some places we can cut a few corners. Maybe I could train up a new team, sell them. Or we could sell one of the buggies.”

There was a soft pause, and Krem said quietly, “You love those damn things.”

“I do, but they aren't necessary. We can keep the largest and the smallest and call it good.”

“Dammit, Bull, between them and the china they're your only pleasant things. I'm not an idiot, I know how much it means to you to have those. Don't go selling them before you've given us a chance to even out the workload. The sheep are fine, we just need another rider or horse worker. Might be that we'll be able to work something out with some of the hostlers in town.”

“Dorian-”

Krem snorted. “Dorian? No. I doubt he's ever even been in a saddle like we use. Alti learn horsemanship, sure, but not like this. He probably knows polo, or jousting. Something useless like that. Let him stay and keep house, and for fucks sake just take him back to bed.”

Bull sighed again, and the chair creaked again. Dorian was fairly certain it was about to break if Bull leaned any harder on it. “I'm not going to take him to bed. It's his choice if he wants to share my bed, I'm not going to push it. I'm not dumb, Krem, I'm a massive fucking Qunari and he's from Tevinter. He's even from Qarinus. He's probably seen what my people can do a few too many times. It'd be nice to get a good fuck in, I won't lie, but I'll talk to him before I go haring off to sleep with other people. He deserves better than that, and to have a say in that.”

Dorian felt his cheeks heat up, a little bit of shame curling in his chest. He'd slept with a great many men, and Bull should have been no different. If he was so unsatisfied, Dorian was too poor of a husband to be worth keeping. Enough people had told him time and time again that his pretty face was best when choking on cock, and Bull deserved a husband who could soothe at least some of the stress he was under.

Now, if only he had the nerve to actually take him to bed again. The evening had been- well, it had been _amazing_ , and saying Dorian was rattled by the idea was something of an understatement. He didn't get nice things, let alone nice men. Especially not nice men who actually massaged his arms.

“Glad to know some of the lessons on what's okay in the South stuck,” Krem said dryly. “Just- try and seduce him, at least. Pretty as he is, he deserves to feel good. And if you don't get on him, I'm sure Grim would love to.”

“Grim can find his own damn husband.”

Krem snorted.

Dorian quietly slipped away from the barn, a bit of humiliation burning him. The talk of sex lingered, but more so the implications that outside of the house he was as good as useless. He was good with horses, not that they'd let him near any of them, and that had to stop.

Jousting and polo. _Honestly_. He'd show them, even if he did have to learn all of the different tack they used.

oOo

Dorian was unusually sweet when Bull came in the house, coming up and laying a long fingered hand on his chest with all the delicacy of a trained courtesan. Bull knew something was up, but Dorian's eyes were determined, and Bull wasn't about to get in his way when he was just starting to open up.

“Did you have a good day?”

“Pretty good, yes,” Bull said carefully, searching his face. Dorian seemed to be gearing up for something, and before he could figure it out, Dorian stood up on his tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He was so startled he couldn't even respond, and Dorian hurried behind the bar to fuss with something on the counter.

“That's good to hear,” Dorian said, his voice sounding a little strangled. “Um. Dinner will be out in just a moment.”

“Yeah,” Bull said blankly, a slow smile spreading on his face as he reached up to touch his cheek. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

Dorian froze, then glanced over his shoulder with a bit of a smile, his eyes bright. “Of course.”

Bull changed for dinner in record time, then slipped back outside to clip one of the large sunflowers that grew just off the porch. Dorian had finished setting the table, and was looking it over as Bull came back in. He was quite a lovely picture, dressed in soft white linen that draped and clung in elegant ways and grey pants that were impeccably tailored, leaving just enough to the imagination. 

“Dorian?” he murmured, stepping up behind him and resting a hand high on his back.

Dorian turned, and his eyes lit up as Bull presented the sunflower. “Oh, this is lovely,” he said, gently stroking the petals as he took it. He smiled up at Bull, and for the first time Bull could see the small crows feet of smile lines, a tiny and utterly enchanting detail. He wisely didn't mention them, instead leaning down to kiss the top of his head. Dorian went still for a second, then leaned into him as he visibly relaxed.

“Almost as lovely as you,” Bull murmured, and Dorian made a strangled little noise as a huge smile broke out on his face.

“That's a terrible line,” he scoffed, and Bull chuckled.

“But it worked, didn't it?”

Dorian elbowed him, but lightly, and went to fetch a vase for the flower. It sat front and center on the table, proudly displayed, and Dorian smiled every time he saw it.

oOo

Dorian had seen people using lariats before. Skinner could do marvelous tricks with hers (and ah, ha, Dorian got the pun now), and Stitches was a master with it. Dorian had never actually handled one. He surveyed the one hanging on the decrepit saddle in the corner of the tack room, lit just enough by lantern light to allow him to see, and shook his head. He would have to learn another time. The saddle itself was in poor repair, and missing stirrups. Unlike Tevene saddles, which required only the lightest of effort, these saddles were massive. A horn stuck out of it, there were a pair of wings like the leg drape on a side saddle, and the back was much broader. It also had what appeared to be pillowy cushioning, which was a fascinating concept. Unfortunately, Dorian was unused to it and wasn't certain it would be a good fit. It looked to be built for an elf.

Dorian checked around the room, and in the corner he was delighted to find a rather ancient Tevene saddle. It was in acceptable repair, though in dire need of oiling, and after a quick check he was pleased to find the fit was near perfect. A look around in some more boxes of gear he found a rather battered pair of Tevene stirrups, called “irons”, to match. A saddle blanket was easy enough to find among the pile of extras, and a girth was salvaged from another box, one with enough holes to fit almost any horse. 

Dorian had learned the art of riding from an ancient, thoroughly grouchy Liberati elf that had served the family since his grandparents. While his parents wanted him to simply learn how to ride, Rovenus had sternly taught him everything he knew about tack, knots, horses, and how to handle himself. Dorian could breed, train, race, and even shoe horses if necessary. When he was home he was expected to care for his mount if he wanted to ride, and he took the responsibility seriously. Rovenus would have smacked him upside the head otherwise, class be damned.

Satisfied with his finds, he carefully settled them in a back corner and went back to bed.

Morning came quickly, and Dorian sidled into the barn after a speed cleaning of the house. Grim was in the tack room, and Dorian quietly thanked the Maker for his good luck. He wanted to surprise Bull, and Grim liked him well enough to let him do as he liked.

“Grim, may I ask you something?”

Grim nodded, turning. He and Dorian got along well, for all that they barely spoke to each other. Not like Grim spoke much anyway, but the point still stood.

“I found a saddle in here the other day, and I was wondering if I could have it.”

Grim raised an eyebrow, and Dorian fished out the saddle from where he'd hidden it. Grim considered it thoughtfully, then nodded. Dorian held out his hand, and Grim wrote “E-X-T-R-A” on his palm.

“Thank you,” Dorian said cheerfully, and Grim shrugged one shoulder, giving him a little smile before shooing him out the door. Dorian took the saddle, and went back to his room to oil and polish it up. The leather soaked up the oil like mad, and Dorian smiled as he watched it regain some of its flexibility. 

For the next three days he continued the process until the leather was back in shape, cleaning up the rest of the tack as he went. Finally, he called it good, and went to find Bull.

“I'd like a horse,” he said, stopping in front of Bull as he cleaned out a stall. Bull eyed him.

“You'd like a horse?”

“I would.” Dorian firmly put a lid on his nerves. “I'd like Toad.”

Bull paused in his work, and stared at him. To be fair, that was about the response Dorian had expected. 

Toad was a gelding, the son of Bull's massive black horse (appropriately named Killer- Dorian was fairly certain he was actually a Pride demon), and a pretty grey Ataarash mare named Hiccup. Toad's siblings were all quite lovely, with the usual Ataarash blankets and spots, but Toad was unique. Instead of a pretty blanket and blaze, Toad had massive brown spots in a shade that looked almost green, and the rest of his coat was a nice tan. Unlike his well tempered siblings, Toad was high strung, stubborn, and had adorable (though odd) ears that curled towards each other at the ends.

“You want Toad?” Bull was incredulous, but Dorian didn't waver.

“I want Toad,” he said firmly.

“Well,” Bull said, still clearly baffled, “no one else wants him and I can't even give him away so... I suppose he's yours.”

Dorian beamed at him, and pecked his cheek. “Thank you, Bull.”

Bull shook his head, and went back to his work.

Toad was out in the pasture on his own, and looked up when Dorian whistled. His curly ears flicked up when he saw the apple Dorian was holding, and he eagerly trotted over to take it from him. Dorian smiled, rubbing his forehead, and Toad nosed at his shirt, looking for more treats.

“You and I are about to have a great deal of fun,” Dorian informed him, and Toad whuffed at him, unsuspecting.

oOo

Around noon the next day, Krem and the rest of the Chargers watched as Dorian lured Toad into the round pen out by the large corral with several apples. Toad, too greedy to realize what the game was, followed him right inside without so much as blinking. Smug, Dorian closed the gate, and took the halter he'd already draped on the fence. While Toad was distracted, he quickly slipped the halter on. Toad froze, whuffing sharply as he realized where he was, and shaking his head. The halter didn't move, and he danced about, upset. Dorian didn't so much as bat an eye at the display, just set to work uncoiling a lunge line attached to the halter.

“What's he doing?” Dalish asked, coming over from where she'd been washing her hands.

“Teaching him who's boss,” Krem said, chuckling, and watched as Dorian clipped on a lunge line to the halter and moved to the center. “It's a Tevinter training technique.”

“ _Trot_ ,” Dorian said in Tevene, and a tiny bit of lighting struck just behind Toad. It startled him forward, and he began to trot around Dorian, who pivoted with him. Toad was doing his best to pretend Dorian wasn't there, stepping high and looking away, his ears flicking forward and back. Dorian settled, slowly turning with him, and every time he slowed or started to buck another little lightning strike happened. He never let it touch the horse, and it was more sound than anything. The Chargers went and fetched lunch, and returned nearly an hour later to find them still there. They settled down to watch again, and Dorian paid them no attention. He made Toad reverse a few times, speeding up some and slowing others, and finally Toad's ear flicked towards Dorian.

Dorian smiled, directing him with little more than his eyes, and finally let him slow down and walk to him. Toad was soaked with sweat, and breathing heavily.

“There we go,” Krem heard him say, watching as Toad accepted another apple from him. “Very good, good boy.”

Dorian took the lunge line off, fetched a lead rope, and lead him out.

oOo

“He what?”

“He taught Toad who was boss,” Krem said as they sheared sheep that afternoon. Sheep loved Bull, even if they didn't like shearing, and they were sitting placidly in Bull's lap as he sheared the wool. “After all that work trying to get him to work right, and Dorian got it in a few hours. I've changed my mind, he was a great investment.”

Bull chuckled, rubbing the sheep's forehead as she flopped her black head on his arm and bleated happily. “When he said he wanted Toad I thought he was crazy.”

“Well, he's not too shabby,” Krem said, and paused. “You've got to be shitting me.”

Bull turned to see what he was staring at.

Dorian was riding through the pasture on Toad, and while Toad was trained to a halter and to a saddle (barely), he rarely tolerated being ridden. Dorian was bareback, in the most unusual get-up Bull had ever seen. In very tight tan pants, tall boots, and one of his white linen shirts, he maneuvered Toad around a few of the rocks with a one handed grip on the reins of a hackamore, the other resting on his thigh as if this were normal. Every time he would start to fidget, Dorian spoke quietly and put him through more complicated paces.

“How the fuck,” Krem said blankly.

“Well, that solves our horse problem,” Bull said, stunned and frankly a little turned on. 

Dorian had gorgeous thighs, and he'd always been a sucker for competency.

oOo

Bull cornered his husband after the sheep were sheared, watching from behind as Dorian crooned at Toad. Toad, for his part, was basking in the attention. He'd been quite an ugly baby, and hadn't been fawned over in the same way as some of the others, unfortunately. It was good, to see Dorian happy. When he'd first arrived he'd been all fire and polite teasing, then once they were married he'd retreated in on himself and hidden for quite a while. Bull had tried to give him space to adjust, and now it looked like they were back to the beginning again, where the real Dorian could shine and be content. Dorian showed flashes of the charmer he'd been when they first arrived, but only flashes. Bull wanted him to blossom like a desert rose, not wilt like some poorly tended lily.

“You looked good out there,” Bull said, and Dorian's head whipped around. He relaxed as he realized who was there, and smiled winningly at him. 

“Thank you.”

Bull strode over, giving him a slow once over. Those were very, very tight pants, and Dorian had very shapely legs. Dorian noticed the attention and cocked an eyebrow at him, a bit of a smirk tugging at his lips. 

“See something you like, husband?” he asked archly, leaning on the stable door.

“You could say that,” Bull said, with a bit of a leer. Dorian snorted, but looked quietly pleased. “Where'd you learn to handle horses?”

Dorian shooed Toad away as he started nosing at his hair, and said, “I learned from the horsemaster at my home. He had served my mothers family, and came with her when she married my father. He taught me everything, though my mother was the one to insist on lessons. She and my father are both excellent in the saddle, but she was gone a great deal and was thoroughly uninterested in teaching me when there were others available. But I am quite good at what I do.”

“So,” Bull drawled, gesturing to him. “What's this?”

Dorian bristled a little, dusting down his shirt. “My riding gear, of course.”

“...I see. Well, you look good enough to eat in it,” Bull said, and Dorian looked pleasantly flustered, turning back to fuss with the stall door. Bull grinned, watching him, and said, “You know, I finally figured it out.”

“Figured what out?” Dorian said, straightening up.

“You don't need to be seduced.”

Dorian blinked at him, surprised, and Bull stepped forward, emphasizing the height difference. Dorian's eyes went a little wild as he reached up to gently stroke hair back away from his face.

“ _You_ ,” Bull drawled, “really do need to be romanced.”

“I do _not_ ,” Dorian huffed, puffing up.

“Oh, you really do.”

Dorian looked torn between desperate longing and severe annoyance, not that Bull could blame him. Tevinter did a number on everyone.

“I thought that joke was dead and gone. We're already married, I hardly see what the point of- of courting me would be,” Dorian said, fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt and tugging them further down on his wrists. “After all, it's not as if you're going to get any agreement of marriage from _my_ family. I'm certain they'd be more than delighted to see me dead, after all. And there's no need for any gifts as we share a home.”

Bull frowned. “I like giving gifts.”

Dorian fidgeted again, looking up at him. “We've gotten away from the subject. I don't need to be courted, what I _need_ to do is go and work on dinner before the Chargers descend and eat me out of house and home. Once I have Toad trained, I imagine I could start doing the forward riding for you during the day, if I can prepare meals in the evening.”

“I don't want you to burn yourself out,” Bull said quietly.

Dorian waved an airy hand and brushed past him. “I'll be fine,” he said, in a way that was entirely unconvincing, but Bull couldn't help but grin at the slightly exaggerated sway in his walk.

“Yep,” he informed the world at large with great satisfaction. “I'm going to romance the _shit_ out of him.”


	4. Chapter 4

To: The Iron Bull  
Swinging B Ranch  
Val Firmin, W. Orlais,   
54462-3772

Iron Bull;

I will be arriving within two weeks for my customary visit. I understand that you have a new spouse, and I look forward to meeting them, as you have been very tight lipped about them in your letters. I will only be there for one week, as Bastien is still not well, and I am still very needed at court.

Yours,  
Madame Vivienne de Fer

oOo

“Dorian, really, be reasonable,” Stitches said in exasperation as Dorian aggressively stamped out the fourth fire of the day. “You're exhausted, just go to bed.”

“I can't just go to bed,” Dorian snapped, finally putting out the fire that had sprung up after his magic had gotten away from him in the kitchen. The next days attempt at a meal sat forlornly on the counter, slightly charred. “If there's to be dinner tomorrow it has to be made tonight, or lunch for that matter. I'm not about to go gallivanting off around the countryside without lunch.” He ran a hand over his face and turned back to the rather sad but dense bread loaf on the counter. “Why is bread so beastly difficult to cut evenly?”

“It's an acquired skill, one that I have,” Stitches said firmly, taking his arm and steering him towards the door. “ _Go_. I can handle one night of cooking, you need to sleep so you don't fall off Toad or something.”

Dorian groaned under his breath and dragged himself up the stairs. He paused at his door, leaning his head against it, and felt his heart sink down. His bed would be cold and empty, and a moment of breathtaking loneliness had him turning around, knocking on the wall, and opening the secret door into Bull's room before he lost his nerve. 

Bull was down to suspenders and pants, and paused as Dorian came in.

“Hey,” he said quietly, wiping off the remains of the foam from his shave and walking over. Dorian let his head fall forward into Bull's chest, exhaustion finally hitting him full force.

“Might I share your bed tonight?” he asked. “Just to sleep.”

“Of course,” Bull said, gently rubbing his back. “You alright there?”

Dorian's eyes fluttered closed, grounded by the weight of Bull's hand. “I'm merely very tired,” he said into Bull's chest, and Bull gently squeezed his shoulder.

“Come on. Hop into bed, I'll get your sleeping things from your room.”

“The long sleeved shirt and the pants on the chair,” Dorian said vaguely, stumbling over to the bed and falling face first onto it. Now that he had permission to sleep, it felt like all the sleep he had ever missed was coming back with a vengeance. He must have drifted off for a moment, because the next thing he knew he was being shaken awake. He moaned in disappointment, trying to burrow back into the pillows.

“Just a bit more,” Bull promised. “Come on, let's get you into your things.”

Dorian groaned and forced himself up, letting Bull help him drag his shirt on and buttoning it up for him. The pants were slightly trickier, but as soon as that was done they both collapsed into bed. Dorian clung to him like a limpet, nuzzling his face into his neck for a moment. Bull gently stroked his back, helping him settle so that they were tangled together comfortably, Dorian's head pillowed on his shoulder and a leg thrown over his hips in an entirely proprietary manner. 

“You're so warm,” Dorian mumbled, nosing at the softer skin at his neck. Bull reached up to gently stroke through his hair, and Dorian sighed happily. “So, so warm.”

“Go to sleep, Dorian,” Bull rumbled, his voice fond. “It's alright, you can rest.”

“Mmm.” Dorian kissed his neck, and settled in. The thump of Bull's heart echoed in his ear, and he fell asleep to the soothing rhythm.

oOo

Dorian woke up at noon the next day and promptly had a panic attack.

Bull's room was empty and silent save for himself, the place so neat it may as well have been an unused guest room save for the rumpled bed he lay in. He scrambled out of bed, bolting for his own room and throwing on clothes as quickly as he could. His boots were tied haphazardly and he rushed down the stairs, tucking in his shirt as he went. He reached the kitchen, and paused when he saw a note on the counter. Snatching it up, he stared in confusion.

_Dorian; we thought you could use a day off. Rest, relax, read, whatever, just no working today. Lunch is in the icebox._

Dorian stared at the note, written in a tight, neat hand, and slowly set it down to go and check the icebox. There was, indeed, a bowl of soup and a sandwich that had been neatly cut into triangles there, and he removed them slowly, setting them on the counter as if they might explode. They did exactly nothing odd, remaining a simple sandwich and soup, and Dorian stared at them, baffled. This was not normal. A quick spell determined they weren't even poisoned.

Dorian sat on a stool and stared at them, confused and a little upset. He knew, logically, that all was well, but the fact remained that he'd been given a day off with no warning to prepare for it, which left him feeling off balance. And then there was this. He was pulling his own weight, he knew that, but this was a whole other matter. This was a _gift_ , which meant that he had to return one in kind. How did he go about giving gifts if he couldn't even go to town on his own? He didn't dare touch anyone's tack, or do their chores when they had everything precisely how they liked it. There wasn't anything he could do for them. He stared at the soup, and shook his head before going to fetch some utensils.

Once he'd eaten the (admittedly delicious) lunch left for him, he had no idea what to do. The kitchen was sparkling, he'd washed his dishes, and the house didn't need dusting until the weekend. Besides, he'd been told not to do work.

He went up to his room, tidied away what little mess there was, and sat on his bed. He supposed he could read, but what books he had were dry academic volumes, too precious to his now useless work and emotionally difficult to read.

He had no staff, no books, no workroom, and no outlet. 

Groaning, he fell back on his bed and stared up at the ceiling. He supposed he could go riding, but Toad would probably enjoy a day off just as much as he would. He had spent the past two weeks learning how to ride point around a sheep herd, learning along with Toad how to handle himself, and had just started practicing leading the Ataarash herd around as well. What was he even to do? He had already written everyone for the week, and wasn't expecting replies for quite some time.

Dorian sighed, getting up. He might as well take a walk around the area, since he had yet to take the time to do so. 

The willow trees outside hissed softly in the breeze, their long branches stroking his face as he walked past the protective square and into the heat of a West Orlesian summer. He climbed the little ridge behind his house, looking out over the fields. The little white dots of sheep in the far pasture could be seen with a pair of the leopard speckled horses that Dalish and Skinner rode near them, and the Ataarash herd was playing in one of the closer pastures. Toad's distinctive green-brown could be seen even from the distance, and Dorian knew that further over another hill the others would be checking on the other sheep herd. He sat for a moment, watching as the field of wheat rippled with the wind. 

“Who has seen the wind,” he murmured to himself, the memory of a half forgotten poem lingering on his lips as the wind made the wheat look like ocean waves. Shaking his head, he rose, and went back to his walk.

The abandoned orchard was his next stop, and he plucked a small pear from a tree and sliced it open with his belt knife. It was free from bugs or worms, and he enjoyed the sweet taste of its fruit as he passed under the wild tangle of branches out to the little forest behind it. 

Dorian had never been this far out, and wandered through the little wood, looking up with interest at the trees Dalish called “quaking aspen”, with their white wood striped with black scars. The little leaves shivered in the wind, and he smiled to see how they had earned their name. He traveled deeper in, turning down the little overgrown path, and followed it up the hill. The day was warm and bright, and Dorian went further on up until he came out at a little overlook and sat on a rock. The wind buffeted him as he looked out, and he shaded his eyes. 

The world seemed to stretch forever, great tracts of land swooping off forever into the distance. Below, he could see the house and the little white and black specks of sheep. Grim- and it could only be Grim, wearing that hat- was out loping around the little track they'd made on one of the yearlings. The great willows surrounding the house swayed like great hooped skirts, or ladies dancing in a ballroom. Dorian smiled in recollection of one such woman in Qarinus, a young woman who was perhaps twenty now, who had caused a great scandal by wearing skirts with only a hoop and no petticoats. She had moved like air when Dorian had been obliged to dance with her, and he'd found her utterly refreshing. Now, of course, he was unlikely to be going dancing any time soon, but that was hardly his fault.

He rose, carrying on up the great hill, and found himself in a field of wildflowers when he reached the top. Poppies and daisies, little red and purple things, tall green grasses and wild blue sky greeted him. So far from the ocean, it seemed once again that he was on the sea, but one made of a myriad of colors. He reached out his hands, marveling as he stretched his head up to the sky. The sky seemed to go on forever, great puffy clouds sculling along far above.

Dorian was so engrossed in the majesty of it all that he completely missed what was in front of him and stepped directly onto Bull's stomach.

With a yelp he promptly fell, sprawling like an awkward child, and Bull came awake with a shout of surprise. The two stared at each other, baffled, and Dorian drew himself up.

“What on _earth_ are you doing?” he demanded.

“Napping.”

“I can see that, but _why_ are you napping out here?” Now that he had a better look, he could see that Bull had brought a blanket, and a solitary bottle of wine.

Bull grinned sheepishly at him. “The boys told me to take a day off too.”

Dorian flopped onto his back, ignoring the dirt that would surely be all over the back of his shirt. “Maker.”

Bull scooped him up and onto the blanket with him, handing over the wine. Dorian eyed it for a moment before sighing and uncorking it, toasting him dryly and downing some of it. It wasn't bad, honestly, if a bit cheap. He eyed the label, his suspicious confirmed as to the quality.

“It reminds me of the ocean,” Bull offered, nodding up at the sky. “It's weird, being so far away from it.”

Dorian nodded, smiling as he took another pull of the wine. He hadn't drank like this since he was in the Circle, _Maker_. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He handed the wine back, and Bull lay back down, looking up at the endless sky.

“Lay with me a while?” he asked, and Dorian hesitated, but nodded. 

“Very well.” He settled down beside him, letting Bull scoop an arm around him, and stared up into the blue. The clouds seemed so soft, so light, and Dorian smiled at them. 

“You know,” he said, “clouds are water.”

“What?”

“It's true,” Dorian insisted. “Clouds are water and dirt and beauty. There was a man, I want to say his name was Aritraxus, about the time of the Steel Age, who was fascinated by clouds...”

The afternoon passed bit by bit, the clouds shaping and forming new wonders with each minute, and Dorian laughed as he and Bull shared stories back and forth. It was about time for dinner when he finally rolled over, putting a hand on Bull's chest, his smile soft.

“Bull?”

Bull smiled at him, reaching up to stroke his hair. “Yes?”

“Would you kiss me?”

Bull's smile widened and he pulled him back down, pressing a slow kiss to his lips. Dorian sighed into it, hand going around to cup the back of Bull's neck, and when they broke for breath Dorian whispered, “Would you keep me?”

Bull pressed the softest kiss to his lips. “Wild horses couldn't take you from me.”

Dorian smiled against his lips, and kissed him again.

oOo

Dorian slept in his own bed that night despite spending the rest of the evening in Bull's after they came down from the field, playing coy as if it didn't drive Bull wild, and had a spring in his step as he made breakfast. Bull slipped into the kitchen behind him, and Dorian glanced over his shoulder with a bit of a smile. The smile turned downright lascivious as Bull bracketed him and let his hands fall to Dorian's hips before he bent to kiss his neck.

“Good morning.”

“Morning,” Dorian purred, tilting his head to the side. “Did you sleep well?”

“Worse without you there to warm me up in the morning.” Bull kissed his temple again and stepped back to avoid Dorian's playful swat, going to sit on a stool at the bar. “I have a friend coming to visit, she should be here in a few days. She likes to get out of the city once and a while, ride around the countryside. She'll be taking one of the spare rooms, might stay about a week before heading back.”

“Who is she?” Dorian asked, and Bull winced internally. Dorian's voice was as light as it had been, but there was tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there before.

“I can't tell you. She doesn't want you to have any ideas before you meet.”

Dorian shrugged one shoulder, pursing his lips. “An interesting approach I suppose,” he said dryly. “Very well.”

Bull stood up and walked back around, letting his hand fall to the small of Dorian's back. “Hey,” he said gently, and Dorian fixed his gaze firmly on the stove. “I'm not the mistress taking type. If I went for anyone else, it'd only be with your blessing, and you'd know them too.”

Dorian looked up at him, thoughtful, and a little half smile lit on his lips. He looked tired, as if he'd heard that a few too many times before, and Bull bent to kiss his forehead.

“I swear,” he said quietly. “Unless you say otherwise, you're it.”

“That's very sweet of you,” Dorian said, just as quiet. “If you have any inclinations towards taking a mistress I won't stop you. I am not unaccustomed to such things.”

“But you wouldn't happy about it.”

“But I wouldn't stop you.” Dorian pulled away from his hand, going to the sink, and Bull hated watching those walls come back up. He hated seeing the quiet, perfectly polite Dorian that appeared whenever he was upset, instead of charming, lively man that he usually was. They'd just taken so many steps forward, and it seemed like they were all falling apart right in front of him.

“Yeah, well, I'd stop me. You deserve better than being unhappy, Dorian.”

Dorian laughed, hands flexing where they gripped the sink. “You seem to have me confused with someone else, Bull.”

“What-”

But Dorian pushed away from the sink and brushed past him, heading out. Groaning, Bull put his face in his hands.

“Shit,” he informed the empty kitchen.

oOo

For the next few days Dorian was coolly polite to him, bordering on frosty, and ranged far ahead on Toad whenever they were out with the sheep. He worked the horses hard, out of the house as much as possible and when not, he was a whirlwind of dusting and rug beating. The rugs were perhaps the most alarming, as he took the opportunity to take the rug beater to them in a way that had Krem quietly reverential whenever Dorian had anything like a stick in his hands. It didn't escape Bull's notice that Dorian had quite impressive arms that spoke of years of training, and it was only on the day that Ma'am arrived that he realized why.

He met her at the station, and she was a vision in the latest fashions from Val Royeaux. The dresses were radically different from those of just two years previous. These were tightly fitted in the bodice, had enormous mutton sleeves, and had the skirts he'd seen called “walking skirts”- much more fitted, with gathered up backs and only the tiniest amount of cage and crinoline necessary. This one was the kind called a “fantail”, with the usual train pulled up. Hers, as always, was in vivid white and steel gray. 

She traveled with four suitcases, as was usual, and carried an impressive staff with a gleaming crystal on top. _Ah_. That explained the arms, though not why Dorian didn't have one of his own. Bull had never even considered that, but given that Ma'am required his immediate attention he pushed the idea aside.

“Afternoon, Ma'am,” he said, hefting her luggage as she adjusted her elegant hat.

“Hello, Iron Bull,” she said, gracing him with a smile. “Ah, I see you brought the surrey.”

He had, and it was freshly cleaned. Her luggage was quickly stored, the staff joining it, and they set off. They talked of nothing in particular on the way there, and when they arrived she allowed him to help her down as Krem emerged to help with luggage. Skinner and Dalish would have already taken off for their how-ever-many now “second” honeymoon out at the sheep camp so that Skinner couldn't be a danger to anyone for the week, and Krem whisked Vivienne's things away before Bull could even lead her into the house.

“I am _quite_ interested in meeting this new spouse of yours,” she said as she examined the portraits on the walls of the sitting room with a fond little smile. Bull tried to update them each year. “I imagine they must be around somewhere?”

“Yes, Ma'am, just a moment-”

Bull turned just as Dorian stepped through the door with a tea tray, one of the finest they owned. Vivienne turned as well, and it was as if time slowed. Dorian blanched, Vivienne blinked, and the tray dropped directly onto the floor, shattering the china on it.

oOo

“Dorian?” Madame Vivienne de Fer said, and Dorian couldn't even breathe.

“I- I'm so sorry,” he managed. “I'll- I'll just-”

And he fled.

Panic clawed at his throat, and he'd almost made it to the door when he ran directly into Grim, nearly knocking the wind out of himself. Grim caught him, one massive hand steadying him as Stitches stepped through the door just behind Grim, concerned. They were fresh off working with the horses for the day, ready to relax until evening chores.

“What's wrong?” he demanded, striding over to cup Dorian's forehead. “You look like you've seen a ghost. Or a demon.”

“Dorian?”

Dorian made a helpless noise, and felt Grim bristle as Bull stepped into the kitchen. Grim, Maker bless the man, was always a little protective of him and Dorian was so grateful for it. Stitches folded his arms and glowered at Bull, making no effort to disguise his anger and stepping around Dorian so there was a solid human wall between them.

“What did you do?”

Bull shrugged, helpless, and looked to Dorian. “I don't know-”

“Vivienne de Fer,” Dorian choked out, heart racing. “ _Vivienne de Fer_. You couldn't have been friends with anyone else, oh no, not you. Not _my_ husband.”

“You know her?” Bull seemed surprised, and Dorian wanted nothing more to run clear to the other side of all 300 acres of property and hide with the sheep. Grim's arm tightened protectively around him.

“I've worked with her,” he said, wishing that he didn't want to vomit.

“Did you have a falling out?” Bull asked carefully, and Dorian shook his head, pulling away from Grim and stepping past Stitches.

“She knows who I am, Bull,” he spat. “I have done my level best to hide in the very farthest corner I possibly could stand, to ensure that I would never meet anyone who knew me as _Lord_ anything, or anyone who knew that I was-” His voice broke, and and he furiously flicked tears out of his eyes. All the grief and betrayal was welling up at once, and he ached for Tevinter, where he could walk freely and openly carry a staff and be useful in ways that didn't mean blistered hands from rope burn, or aching shoulders from mucking out stables. “I was so prized for my work, you have no idea what it cost me to give all that up. I have published theories. Theories. I was working on the Blight, improving a cure, I had a family who loved me, and then I had it all ripped away from me and I left without any of my own things but the clothes on my back. I have not a single possession to my name that was not a gift from a friend, I don't even own my own last name, and here I am with all of that threatened once again. I have hidden myself away so well that only two people know where I am, _two_ people who I trust know. I have done my best to protect myself, and everyone else here, and yet.” He was in tears, and hated himself fiercely for it. “And yet, here I am.”

Bull made an aborted step towards him, only to be stopped by a delicate hand on his arm. Vivienne stepped out from around him, serene as ever.

“Dorian, darling, do pull yourself together,” she said calmly, and he glared daggers at her.

“Do not presume to tell me what to do in my own house,” he hissed, and she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Your kohl is running.”

“ _Kaffas_ ,” he snarled, “hang the kohl. What are your demands? What will I have to do to keep this from returning to my fathers ears? I will not return to that house, and I will do whatever it takes to keep him from knowing a thing about this place and these people. Well? How shall I prostrate myself, Madame de Fer?”

The room grew exponentially colder, and everyone inched away from the pair of them. 

“I make allowance for your grief, and your fear,” Vivienne said, her voice a velvet knife. “I will make that allowance once, and never again. I have known The Iron Bull far longer than I have known you or Felix Alexius, and would never put this household in danger. And I do not tolerate the abuse of those I love.”

Dorian could feel that he was trembling, anger and sorrow warring to control him.

“Well?” he asked, gesturing helplessly. “What do you want from me? I am at your mercy. If you want removed all it will take is a single slip of my residence. I haven't even a staff to my name anymore.”

“What I would like,” she said, keeping her eyes fixed on him, “is tea. And then we shall talk.”

oOo

Dorian made tea, and felt misery set in like a knife.

The Chargers had wisely absented themselves, and the sitting room was utterly silent save for the ticking of the clock. Dorian stared at the tea set on the tray that sat on the coffee table, feeling even more guilt settle in his stomach. The set he'd broken was one of Bull's favorites, a pretty bone china patterned with little pink roses that had been incredibly expensive. He had no idea what he would have to do to replace it. Bull had never raised a hand to him, but Dorian knew that real anger didn't care about anything, only the immediacy of what could be done to relieve it. He may yet pay for this mistake behind closed doors, as he had with boys in the Vyrantium Circle.

“I had heard that you disappeared,” Vivienne said at last, delicately setting her cup down. Dorian looked to the window, watching the sway of the willow beyond. “Felix Alexius was remarkably tight lipped about the whole affair, and his father was not much better, only saying that you had found opportunities elsewhere. Your father's statement was to inform the press that you had taken unwell and were resting at your home.”

Dorian snorted, tugging down his sleeves again. “Resting. _Honestly _.”__

__“It did strike me as odd,” Vivienne continued. “And then there was no news at all. When asked, Messare Alexius would simply deflect.”_ _

__“Wise of him,” Dorian muttered. “It would be dangerous showing any interest. House Alexius is weak, and I'm certain Father has been punishing them for daring to treat me well.”_ _

__Vivienne inclined her head. “Indeed. Now, the question remains, how did you come to be here?”_ _

__Dorian sighed, rubbing his forehead. “I escaped, a friend helped me to a remote corner of the country, and then I answered Bull's ad for a husband and we bribed my way over the border and I was married.”_ _

__Vivienne considered him for a long moment, mouth pursed. “Bull,” she said at last. “Some privacy.”_ _

__Bull hesitated, and she flicked her eyes to him. Without another word, he rose and left them in silence. The silence grew like a living thing until it filled the room, and Dorian fixed his eyes on the trees beyond the window. Exhaustion flickered at the edges of his awareness, too many days of pushing himself too hard starting to take their toll._ _

__His attention was brought back to Vivienne as she lifted her teacup once again._ _

__“You have quite the reputation,” he said quietly, running his fingers over the soft pink plush of the couch. “And I am now trapped without a bit of recourse. What will you have me do?”_ _

__“I would you have you put this nonsense from your mind,” Vivienne said tartly. “I have no intentions of sending you back to the tender embrace of Tevinter. I see no rival, simply a very scared man who needs no more fear in his life.”_ _

__The willows hissed in the wind, and Dorian closed his eyes, feeling far too old. “How long has it been?”_ _

__“Six years, perhaps.”_ _

__“Ah, 24.” Dorian smiled, bitter. “That was quite a year for me, I'm sure. I barely remember any of it, I was so drunk.”_ _

__“I don't know that I can recall you without a glass in your hand for quite some time,” Vivienne said quietly. “I trust you have that better in hand.”_ _

__“Oh, yes.” Dorian sighed, rubbing his forehead. “Magister Alexius took a dim view of handling live viruses while hung over, and I'm afraid there's little here but milk and water. Sometimes ale, but that's considerably more rare much to the Chargers frustration.”_ _

__“I brought a few excellent bottles from my private collection,” Vivienne said mildly. “If you will cease this moping and snapping, I may yet be inclined to share one with you.”_ _

__“I'm from Tevinter,” Dorian said, a bit of a smile gracing his face. “Can you blame me for wondering your motivations?”_ _

__She sighed, running a finger around the rim of her cup. “I'm afraid not. My dear, what drove you to run?”_ _

__“Torture, and the prospect of possession,” Dorian said flatly. “Please, do not ask me more than that.”_ _

__“Very well. Are you treated well here?”_ _

__Dorian smiled for the first real time that day. “Yes, I am. Far better than I expected. I- well. The Iron Bull has been a perfect gentleman, and while the work is hard, I am growing to love it. I admit that it's more than a little frustrating to go without a staff, doing magic only with my hands, but well. There's only so much I can do about that, after all.”_ _

__She frowned, but nodded, and sipped her tea a moment before sighing. “I will admit to some surprise that he married a mage, but here you are. Now.” She set the teacup back down with a decisive little _clink_. “I will go and get settled, and let you settle as well.”_ _

__“Much appreciated,” he said with a wry smile. “Perhaps, with you here, I might finally be able to hear some about the new fashions. I find myself deplorably out of the loop of everything out here.”_ _

__“We will have to rectify that.”__

 _ _oOo__

 _ _Bull came back to find Dorian carefully picking up the pieces of the broken china, and knelt down without a word to help him._ _

__“Be careful,” Dorian said quietly. “It would be rather terrible if you wound up with porcelain slivers.”_ _

__Bull nodded, helping him pick the tiny pieces up and place them on the tray. Dorian's hands were trembling, and Bull gently took them in his. Dorian took a slow, shuddering breath, looking up at him. Bull smiled at him, trying to hide his worry, but judging but the sad little twitch of Dorian's mouth, he hadn't succeeded._ _

__“You alright?” he asked, and Dorian sighed._ _

__“What a question to ask someone,” he said. “I suppose the answer is supposed to be yes, but if I'm answering honestly then it's no. I don't know how to make this up to you.”_ _

__“It's one tea set,” Bull said gently._ _

__“It was your favorite tea set,” Dorian said dryly. “And I snapped at your guest, and I yelled at you, and dinner _still_ isn't done.”_ _

__“Rocky's handling dinner,” Bull said, gently squeezing his hands. “He's doing curry in the Orzammar style. And Ma'am's handled much worse than a yelling match. If you're up to it, do you want to eat somewhere else? Out on the ridge, or in the grotto?”_ _

__“I...” Dorian hesitated, then nodded, hiding the flash of relief poorly. “Yes. Let's.”_ _

__With the china cleaned up, they stole sandwiches from the kitchen and Bull grabbed a blanket. The weather was perfect, the wind just enough for a cooling breeze, and the heat of the day calmed enough it wasn't uncomfortable to be out of doors. They set up on the little hill and Dorian sighed as they looked out over the sprawl of the fields, the poppies waving around them in cheerful splotches of color. Toad was harassing some of the other horses into a game of tag, his dam trotting along the fence while Killer stretched his long legs in an easy lope._ _

__“It was a shitty thing, not thinking you might be uncomfortable with newcomers,” Bull said without ceremony. “I'm sorry, I won't make that mistake again.”_ _

__“Thank you,” Dorian said, and after a moments hesitation he rolled up his sleeves. The scars were on vivid display, splashes of purple and white harsh against his skin. Bull reached over, offering his hand. Dorian looked surprised for a moment but took it and squeezed._ _

__“Hey,” Bull said warmly, and Dorian looked over at him. Bull grinned at him, and lifted his hand to kiss the back of it. Dorian smiled, slow and genuine, and leaned over to pull Bull down into a kiss just as slow and sweet._ _

__“We'll figure this out,” Bull promised, and Dorian rested his head on his shoulder, smiling._ _

__“Yes,” Dorian said thoughtfully, looking out over the fields. “You know, I do believe we will.”_ _


	5. Chapter 5

Recipe for bread, written on lined cardstock in a neat, tight hand:

2 c old fashioned oats  
3 ½ tbsp yeast  
heaping tbsp salt  
6 c wheat flour  
4 c white flour  
1 c rice flour  
4 tbsp flax seed (ground down to 2 tbsp)  
4 ½ c hot water  
½ c molasses  
6 tbsp of olive or canola oil

Add all dry ingredients, then slowly mix in all liquid, turning with molasses and oil. Once all liquid is added, add one more cup white flour. Knead, or turn mixer on for 10 minutes. Turn out onto lightly floured board or counter, knead again adding flour as necessary. Divide into four ½ pound loaves, letting sit in greased pans to rise. When risen to double size, back in 350 degree oven for 28 minutes. When done, let cool for a minute in the pan so it will pop out easier. Lightly butter tops with cold stick of margarine. Yield: 4 very dense, flavorful loaves

oOo

The art of making bread was an elusive thing.

Bread was a complex undertaking, as Dorian learned, and required a great deal of effort that he honestly hated to put in for something that was gone so quickly. He reflected on this as he kneaded the dough, the previous batch rising in their pans under a thin linen. The pummeling of the soft dough was perhaps a bit therapeutic, however, and he felt some of the tension that had lingered slowly dissipate. 

“I can't say that I ever thought I would see you at home in a kitchen, my dear,” Vivienne said, and Dorian glanced up. She was in a fine white and silver riding habit, pulling off her gloves as she came in through the mud room.

“I can't say that I ever thought I would be,” Dorian replied, rolling the dough out and flipping a knife out of the block to cut it into the appropriate sizes. These went into their pans as Vivienne sat at the raised counter, and Dorian flicked another linen over the top of them before taking the first set and setting them into the oven to bake. The stove was banked properly, smoldering with heat, and he opened the window to let a bit of a breeze in before starting the process of scrubbing down the counters. Vivienne watched, expressionless, and he finally sighed. Setting the rag down, he crossed his arms and looked up. “What is it?”

“You used no magic,” she said.

Dorian shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Bull isn't terribly fond of magic, and I learned very quickly that cooking magic is something far beyond me. Some things simply have to be done by hand. And I find that it's very grounding. I have less dreams of demons if I've spent the day eing fully present in the world.”

She nodded thoughtfully. “Do you miss it? Working with magic and studying, developing new techniques and ideas?”

Dorian swallowed past the lump in his throat. “More than I could ever say,” he said roughly, turning to rinse the rag in the sink. “It hurts like a knife in my chest sometimes. I was so... I was strong, considered a veritable genius in my field. I was making enormous strides towards answering questions about magic that had never truly been asked before, and I had to give that all up. Instead, now I'm just a house-husband who trains horses, and who considers a clean home and well made bread a great success.”

“It is a great success.”

“Yes,” Dorian said, staring down at the water that rushed over the rag, “but it's hardly the one I wish to be known for.”

Vivienne sighed, and once Dorian had composed himself again he turned to finish cleaning up. She rested her chin in her hand, looking quite tired.

“I traded alchemy and academia for a place in court,” she said softly. “Some days I wonder if I made the right choice. The Game is exhausting, and while it gave me my dear Bastien, I miss that thrill of discovery greatly.”

“Could you not keep a lab in your home?” Dorian asked. “Surely the Ghislain estate is large enough to spare just one room, even.”

“Perhaps.” She tapped her fingers on the counter, frowning. “What of yourself? Three hundred acres is hardly insignificant.”

Dorian shook his head, smiling ruefully. “Money is tight, and the things that I would need are beyond our funds. And I would need an entire building devoted to my work. Time magic is still highly theoretical and very volatile, and the building would have to be warded to the teeth. Besides, I haven't even a staff to my name, now. I am entirely at the mercy of Bull when it comes to my spending, and for now the only thing money is being spent on is food for ourselves and parts for the ranch. I'm his husband, not his employee, and therefore I earn no wages.”

“Wages or not, you share all things in common as the contracts in Orlais go.”

Dorian shrugged. “My name is on our account, yes, but every copper must be accounted for. It's hardly as if I could run off to Val Royeaux and go on some vast spending spree. I have obligations here, for one thing, and for another I somewhat _desperately_ hate traveling by train. It's almost as bad as traveling by boat, I get absolutely abominably sick.”

Vivienne laughed, her face lighting up in a smile. “You always were such a delicate thing.”

Dorian scoffed, drawing himself up. “Delicate? I prefer exquisite.”

“You have flour on your nose, my dear.”

oOo

To Bull's surprise, Dorian came to his room that night. They dressed for bed and fell into it in exhaustion rather than try for anything more strenuous. Dorian curled into Bull's side.

“Bull,” he said quietly, tracing absent patterns over his skin, “I was wondering if I might go into town with you some time. Perhaps to get a few new books, or- I don't know, a few trinkets of some kind. My room is somewhat bare and it's beginning to get to me.”

Bull winced, feeling a frisson of guilt. It had been almost three months since Dorian had been there and he'd never once gotten anything for himself, mostly because he'd had no way to. “Yeah, absolutely. I'll have Stitches check through the budget and give you what's available.”

Dorian went tense under his arm. “I don't want to make things difficult for the ranch financially.”

“Nah,” Bull said reaching up to gently stroke his hair. “As hard as you've been working, you more than deserve it. And when we sell the horses you've been training in a few weeks, you're getting the bulk of the money. You've more than earned it. Would you feel better if we opened an account that was just yours, so you could save up?”

Dorian looked up at him, the relief naked on his face. “Yes, please. I apologize, it's just... I've been living with others controlling my funds my entire life, it would be an absolute dream to have something others couldn't touch.”

Bull frowned, concerned. “What do you mean, others controlled it?”

Dorian sighed, his head falling back down. “My father kept a very tight rein on my finances to keep me in line. Not that it worked, per se. And then Alexius, my mentor, when he... well, when he rescued me, he started an account that he could send funds into, but kept an eye on so that I couldn't fall into bad habits. Not that I was at all interested in bad habits at the time- the work we were doing was far more interesting than brothels or drink. I was quite the entitled little brat for most of my youth, and I abused my status with great regularity.”

Bull chuckled. “You must have been quite the little terror. I can just see you, running around and causing mayhem.”

“You have no idea.” Dorian settled back against him, smiling a little sadly. “Bull?”

“Hmm?”

“You... well. You probably shouldn't tell people who the horses were trained by. I am Tevene after all. I'm sure they'll think I used blood magic to teach them, and you'll have difficulty selling them.” He tried to keep the bitterness out of his voice and failed miserably. Bull sighed, scratching at his scalp.

“If you say so.”

“I do.” He huffed a sigh and nestled against him. “I just don't want to be a bother.”

“You're not a bother,” Bull murmured. “You're an asset, and my husband. You deserve good things, things that I haven't given you and should have. We'll go to Val Firmin day after tomorrow, all right?”

“Thank you,” Dorian whispered, and let sleep take him.

oOo

Val Firmin was a loud, bustling place, and Dorian kept very close to Bull as they walked through town. He was well dressed, in his longest white coat with brass buckling up the sides and exquisite patterned stitching, and wore a hat with a heavy veil on it to keep the sun out of his eyes. He'd started the day with a splitting headache and the ride had not improved it. His gloves were simple buttercream leather, and his shirt was a plain white with his waistcoat bearing a geometric green and brown pattern. He knew he was overly dressed to be a farmers husband- he should have been dressed like some of the others, in their properly Orlesian short coats with their bright colors and big, belled sleeves with shirt sleeves peeking out from under them and a tall collar.

“I stand out,” he muttered, taking Bull's arm as they walked through the crowds.

“Like a peacock in a henhouse,” Bull said mildly. “Wouldn't have you any other way.”

Dorian snorted, and they stepped up onto the boardwalk to look through the glass at some of the wares. Val Firmin was hardly Val Royeaux, but it was a large enough city to have a wide variety of stores that were, if nothing else, fascinating to look at. They were hardly the only ones window shopping.

“Any idea what you want?” Bull asked, glancing at a particularly lovely oil lamp made of cut crystal. 

Dorian shrugged, feeling a bit of the sting of having such a small amount of pocket money. “I need more shirts so I should buy fabric. Krem and Grim are going to try and teach me how to work the sewing machine. Some kohl would be nice, perhaps a book or two if there's anything left.”

“Not exactly dreaming big?” Bull sounded a little guilty.

Dorian sighed. “Every time I use magic you get uncomfortable. While it's... it's an enormous part of my life, and something I miss desperately, I have to be realistic. A staff is entirely too expensive at the moment after all. Other things need to come first. Besides, it isn't as if I'm doing any work these days that would make it worth purchasing. I barely have time to sleep, let alone devote myself to researching theoretical time magic and ways to prevent the eternal forward march of the Blight as I was before. Here, all I am is a farmers husband, who makes bread and questionable dinners, and I work with horses. That is who Dorian Taurus is. Dorian Pavus is quite dead, and I need to let him go. I have no lab, no books, no staff, and no equipment.”

Bull frowned, but said nothing as they reached the general store. Dorian haggled with the man behind the counter as Bull examined a new plow, and left with a large bolt of fabric and a lighter purse.

“I hate being a proper adult,” Dorian said, ducking into the next shop. The little tins of kohl were thankfully extremely cheap, though he only bought one. Books, after all, came next.

The book shop was a wonderful, quiet place, and he just about cried as he stood in front of the section on magical theory. It was woefully small, but there were a few new works he'd yet to read on things that were of interest. He reluctantly turned away from them, missing how Bull frowned, and found his way to the novels instead. Escapism was far better, and he desperately needed an escape right now. There were a few cheap paperbacks that looked acceptable, if not all that thrilling, and he paused when he hit the romance section.

Displayed was a novel with a pair of men kissing quite passionately on a beach, and he stared at it blankly.

“Something the matter?” Bull asked.

“Surely this is a misprint? Or a joke, or a mistake?” Dorian asked. He couldn't convince his arms to move, scared to touch it in case it fell apart in his hands, a mere mirage.

“Nope. This is one of a loosely tied together serial, I think. Pretty sure Rocky has a few of them. It's about a pirate and an innkeeper in Antiva. These things are _always_ set in Antiva, I swear.”

“A series,” Dorian said faintly. “About... men. Together. In a public store, officially printed.”

“Yep.”

“I think I need to sit down for a moment.”

He ended up leaving with the novel (“Heartbeats at High Tide”, what a name) and another two slim volumes, the first two of a series about a pair of men living in Nevarra and having a wildly inappropriate relationship- one was a prince, the other a knight sworn to the princes elder brother- and with a bit left to spare because the bookseller had knocked off the price when he'd seen how shocked and delighted Dorian was.

“Let's go at least look at the staves before we leave,” Bull said, gently prying the book out of Dorian's hands to set it back in the bag. “Read on the way home, big guy, savor it.”

“I've never even _heard_ of novels featuring men who love men before,” Dorian said, fingers itching for the books. “I mean, there are those horribly written trashy little things that go around everywhere, but they don't count as real _novels_. They're not exactly for public consumption.”

Bull chuckled. “On behalf of all those writers of the trashy little things, ouch. They're certainly for military consumption.”

“Did you ever end up seeing the one about the Antivan Crow and the Fereldan diplomat?”

Bull laughed, grinning broadly. “I did! That one was terrible, it was so badly written. Funny, though.”

Dorian took his arm again, smiling. “It really was. Maker, no decent punctuation though. It completely ruined the suspension of disbelief.”

Bull laughed again, and steered him over to the shop. The day was bright, the sun was shining, and Dorian was an entirely happy man. They stepped through the door to a shop that was straightforwardly called “The Magic Shop”, Bull's horn catching the little bell and making it chime cheerfully. 

A no-nonsense middle aged woman strode out from the shelves, eyeing Bull as he untangled himself and Dorian closed the door. 

“The Iron Bull,” she said dryly. “And who's this?”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at him.

“My husband, Dorian,” Bull said with a smile. “Lucretia, Dorian. Dorian, Lucretia du Chambeaux, the owner of this fine establishment and one of the best stone mages I've ever seen.”

Lucretia gave him a small smile, then turned her attention to Dorian. She was quite tall, with dark hair streaked with gray swept into a tight bun, had a very beaked nose and eyes like a hawk, and wore a rather severe, old fashioned dress. The effect was something akin to having a very hungry eagle staring you down to see if you were to be supper. Dorian did his level best to not be nervous. “And what are you doing bringing your husband to my store, The Iron Bull?”

“I came to look at staves,” Dorian said, and from the look Lucretia gave him guessed that he had passed some sort of test in speaking for himself. “And perhaps your book selection?”

Lucretia looked thoughtful, and then looked back to Bull. “You, stay here.”

“But-”

“That was not a request.”

Dorian handed his things over to Bull and followed her to another room, where a number of staves hung on the walls in even lines. His fingers itched to hold one, but he kept them still. Lucretia closed the door and turned to him, eyes narrowed.

“You are a mage out of Tevinter with no staff,” she said bluntly, crossing her arms. “Judging by your things, you were wealthy once. Bull is a fairly well off farmer who, of late, has not been carousing about town, and now has a husband. So my assumption is that you needed to leave, and leave quickly. Is that correct?”

Dorian sighed. “It is.”

“Then to my next question. Is he forcibly keeping you from using your magic?”

Dorian would have laughed, but her face was as set as stone. “No,” he said instead, clearing his throat. “I'm quite competent at channeling through my hands. I don't usually use it around him because I know it makes him uneasy, but he doesn't keep me from it. I don't think he really understands how big a piece of my life it is. I used to be a scholar, but that life is behind me. Still, I would like to have a staff again.”

Lucretia sighed, but nodded. “So long as he isn't keeping you from it. Mage husbands in Orlais are often kept tightly controlled, even more so than the mage wives. It is good to hear that The Iron Bull is a good a man as he seems. You are welcome here whenever. You are free to look them over, the prices are listed below. And I do allow holds and allow people to pay in installments.”

“Thank you,” Dorian said softly, and she left him with a swish of skirts to look at the staves. They were all well made, quite beautiful in their own ways, and Dorian lingered over one made of teak. It was rather plain, but the wood was solid and it resonated well in his hand. The top was capped with a small, plain bronze orb with carvings of sigils that marked it for fire, and the end had a simple bronze cap on it as well that could apparently be removed and have implements added at the end. He glanced at the price and winced, but touched the coins still in the pouch. Perhaps if the horses sold well, he would be able to afford it. He had just twenty silvers left, and the staff itself was 300 gold.

The door creaked open, and for the first time in ages Dorian's magic welled up with a proper opening, the words for the glyph on his tongue and his magic singing along the staff, but it was only Bull. With a concentrated force of will he drew it back into himself, and gently set the staff back on its rack.

“You like that one?” 

Dorian nodded, touching the teak. “Quite far out of my price range, I know, but it is beautiful. Perhaps when I have more than 20 silvers to my name I'll be able to get it.”

Bull wrapped an arm around his shoulders, squeezing. “We'll get you there, I promise.”

“I know.” Dorian smiled, feeling a little more at ease. “Now I have something to work towards. Books?”

“Let's take a look.”

oOo

“I quite like her,” Dorian said as he settled himself on Bull's bed, dressed only in his silk sleep pants. After the day out, he was feeling particularly charitable towards the world and entirely inclined to get fucked senseless. “She's very nice.”

Bull dried off his face and turned, rucking out his shirt and unbuttoning it. “Who, Lucretia?”

“Yes. She actually asked if you were hurting me, it was very touching.”

Bull went still, his eye fixing on Dorian. “She thought I was hurting you?”

“Not physically,” Dorian reassured him, eyeing the expanse of skin Bull was showing. “It's not uncommon for the non magical partner to look for means to keep their spouse from casting. Felix, my friend in Val Royeaux, he knew a man who was outright collared to keep him controlled. It didn't end well. Where I didn't have a staff, she was understandably a little concerned. But I've dealt quite well without one, given the circumstances. My father had mine destroyed, and only kept one in the house so that I couldn't cast as easily.” The memory was a bit too dark, and he shook his head. “But never mind that.”

He stood, walking over to Bull, and went to finish unbuttoning his shirt. Bull caught his hand, looking upset.

“What is it?” Dorian said uncertainly.

“I didn't know,” he said, a little hoarsely. “I didn't know it was that important. Dalish doesn't use hers much, there isn't much need, but she always has it with her. I didn't realize.”

Dorian softened, leaning forward to kiss his collarbone. “It's quite alright. I've been managing just fine.”

“It's really not alright,” Bull said quietly, letting his hand go.

Dorian rolled his eyes, finishing up the buttons and sliding the shirt off Bull's massive shoulders before tossing it to the chair. “Bull,” he said dryly, “I am doing my level best to not think about it. I would really quite like it if we could both go to bed, have a wildly good time, and hopefully later enjoy a lovely bath, as well as perhaps a second round. As I keep saying, I'm a farmers husband, not a researcher anymore. I can go without until I can afford one.”

Bull looked ready to argue the point, but the look in Dorian's eye convinced him to let it go.

“Fine,” he said reluctantly, and Dorian smiled winningly up at him. He leaned down, and Dorian kissed him sweetly.

“Thank you, dear,” he said, saccharine sweet, which got a bit of a chuckle out of Bull. “Now please, oh husband of mine, would you please get out of those pants so I can get out of mine, and you can fuck me into the mattress?”

“Perhaps I'd like you to fuck _me_ into the mattress.”

Dorian paused at the thought. “Perhaps tomorrow?”

“Sounds fair to me,” Bull grinned, and shucked off the rest of his things.

Dorian chuckled, tossing his own things onto the chair as well and hopping up onto the bed. Bull followed him shortly, catching his wrists in one huge hand before kissing him slowly and heated. Dorian moaned against his lips, squirming against him until Bull firmly pressed him down.

“Word?”

“Katoh,” Dorian said obediently, and then bit Bull's lip.

Bull chuckled. “Feisty tonight, aren't you?”

“I'm in dire need of being fucked,” he said somberly.

“Dire, huh?”

“Oh yes.” Dorian punctuated it with a roll of his hips. “Just _dreadful_. Please ease my suffering before I have to resort to more ridiculous statements.”

Bull laughed, getting back up. “Stay put, I'll fetch the ropes.”

“Best husband ever,” Dorian informed the ceiling, and Bull laughed in the distance.

oOo

Vivienne left on the last run of the Val Firmin Flyer on Saturday evening, and Dorian hugged her for longer than was strictly necessary as they waited on the platform.

“Do take care of yourself, my dear,” Vivienne said gently, touching his cheek. “I try to have The Iron Bull at my home for Satinalia, and I expect you to join him. Perhaps I shall see about an early event, and ask Felix to join as well.”

“You would have my eternal gratitude, Madame Vivienne,” Dorian said, bowing his head politely. “It has been a long, difficult time, and I miss him dearly. I've written to him to see about coming to stay for a bit, but it appears that with the semester winding to a close at the university it may yet be some time.”

She nodded, squeezing his shoulder once more. “Do not worry. You do have friends here, and when you come to visit I'll be certain to take you about town.”

“Thank you, Vivienne.” He kissed her hand to make her smile, and stepped back to let Bull forward. He walked over to look with interest at the notice board attached to the wall of the ticket office, smiling at some of the more misspelled requests, and was looking over a very cute ad of young sheepdogs for sale when he heard Vivienne's voice raise a bit.

“- the money if I have to, Iron Bull. This will _not_ continue. I expect you to be better than this. Is there one chosen?”

A murmur of voices again, then a sharp, “ _Good._ ”

Dorian looked over, unsurprised to see Bull holding his hat in his hands and looking somewhat embarrassed. Vivienne glowered at him before patting his cheek, softening somewhat. Their conversation went low again, and Dorian turned back to the board. There were kittens for sale as well, and he wondered idly if he could convince Bull to let him have a house cat. There were a few extremely feral barn cats that he'd tried and failed to make friends with, but a house cat would be wonderful. He missed having pets.

The train whistled, and Dorian walked back over to exchange final air kisses with Vivienne before she climbed aboard, Bull taking her luggage to one of the porters, and they waved the train off. The Flyer disappeared into the mountain like a great silver snake, and Bull wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

“There are kittens for sale,” Dorian offered slyly. “Little orange ones, according to the sign.”

Bull groaned. “I don't know who's worse, you or Stitches.”

“Me, definitely. There's sheepdogs too, that would be good. We could call it Pongo.”

“Pongo?” Bull chuckled as they walked back to where Vat and Tic stood patiently. “What kind of name is that?”

Dorian smiled, leaning his head against Bull's side. “It's the name of a popular children's book in Tevinter about a mischievous puppy that runs around causing chaos. I wasn't supposed to know about such rude little animals, but my nanny smuggled it in to read it to me and her own children when it was bedtime. I loved it.”

Bull laughed, helping him up into the buggy. “Pongo, huh. Alright. We do need a sheepdog, that's for sure. Horses are good, but dogs are better. It's about time we got one. Do you have the address?”

“422 Burrows Road,” Dorian told him, smoothing down his coat.

“And what about the one for the kittens?”

Dorian gasped, delighted, and flung his arms around Bull's neck.

oOo

They went home with Pongo, who was an impeccably well trained sheepdog with a long face and scruffy black and white fur, and two little orange and white purring bundles that Dorian had immediately fallen in love with. His was the runt of the litter, a little girl that he'd named Felicity, and the other was a sleepy calico that was as yet nameless, a surprise for Stitches. Stitches promptly burst into tears when Dorian gently handed him his new friend, the most emotion Dorian had ever seen out of him, and named her Joy.

Joy and Felicity slept in one of Grim's old hats together in the dining room as everyone ate dinner, Pongo sleeping on Krem's feet. 

It was, all told, a very good day.

Dorian dragged Bull upstairs immediately following dinner, and Bull laughed as he was pushed into his own bed. 

“You,” Dorian said smugly, “are a wonderful man.”

Bull's laugh was cut off as Dorian straddled him and kissed him hard, fingers scrambling at Bull's shirt buttons while Bull's fingers fumbled with his belt. They finally pulled back for air and Dorian swung back off him, shucking off his things quickly and making a rude gesture when Bull whistled. Bull swung his legs over the side of the bed, and Dorian dropped to his knees, looking up through heavy lidded eyes.

Bull licked his lips, eye going hungry. “You're too damn pretty.”

“No such thing,” Dorian said, rubbing his cheek along Bull's thigh and leaning in to nose at the steadily growing bulge. “So, my dear husband-” and he would say that word with relish for the rest of his life, “-how shall I thank you for such a wonderful gift?”

Bull's breathing got a little ragged as Dorian mouthed at him, flicking his eyes up from under his lashes.

“Keep that up and laundry's going to be a devil of a time,” he said breathlessly, and Dorian laughed, pressing another kiss to the fabric just to feel him jerk beneath it.

“Very well.” He sat back, correcting his posture and clasping his hands behind him. “How would you like me?”

Bull's eye went dark with lust, and he stroked over Dorian's bottom lip with his thumb. Dorian obediently opened his mouth, sucking it in, and let Bull press down hard on his tongue.

“I think,” Bull said, licking his lips, “that you'd look damn good riding me with your arms all bound up.”

Dorian grinned wickedly at him, and Bull got to his feet to fetch the rope.


	6. Chapter 6

To: The Iron Bull  
Swinging B Ranch  
Val Firmin, W. Orlais,  
54462-3772

Dear Ser,

We will admit that this was an interesting challenge for our designers and engineers, but we believe you will be pleased with the outcome. Attached are the plans for the outbuilding, as well as several quotes from companies we find quite reputable, and we hope that you find them to your satisfaction.

Yours sincerely,  
Emilie du Vries

Head Architect, Chalon Sancte Building Company

oOo

 

 

oOo

Auction day in Val Firmin came on a blustery Tuesday, and after six grueling hours at the auction house showing off each horse that Dorian had trained, Bull and Krem left the Val Firmin Auction Stables as very wealthy men. They were divying out the money due to Dorian when one of the auctioneers, a bow-legged man known only as Tail, came up to them.

“You've got a hell of a trainer over your way,” Tail drawled, leaning against the wall. He was Ferelden bred, Free Marcher raised, and Orlesian settled with a noblewoman wife and an alarming number of children. His drawl, however, was entirely unplaceable. “Had a couple people asking about him. This your new husband?”

“Yep.” Bull straightened up to talk, letting Krem finish up. “You got contacts for me?”

“Five of them.” Tail handed over a slip of paper, grinning toothily at him. Both of his incisors were gold. “And a Mortalitasi who wants to know about a pair, if you're up to training for it. Vitanus Herradon. Want me to send him your way tomorrow? I know you said your man's tetchy about unexpected guests.”

“Understatement,” Krem muttered.

Bull shrugged ruefully. “I'll check with him and send a runner your way in the afternoon. Thanks for the list.”

“Thanks for getting all those people through my door,” Tail said with a lazy smile. “ _Au revoir_ , Bull.”

“Au revoir.”

Krem hummed thoughtfully as he handed Bull the much heavier bag for Dorian and took Bull's off of him. “Well, with the breeding cut alone we just cut our debt into a third of what it was. We're definitely good for the go-ahead on the new outbuilding. You're sure on the building?”

“I'm sure,” Bull said firmly, and Krem shook his head with a smile.

“All right. I'm going to go clear up all the debts.”

Bull grinned slyly at him. “And maybe go see that cute dwarf girl of yours?”

Krem went brilliantly red, punching him in the arm. “Shut up.”

“Skinner's going to be just _crushed_ ,” Bull teased as they walked out into the sunlight. Val Firmin was bustling and cheerful, carriages going back and forth and women in beautiful dresses swishing by. “All those years fighting and fucking together, and you're blowing her and Dalish off.”

Krem snorted, unable to help his smile as he adjusted his jacket and checked his bolo tie. “Lace is a respectable lady, and those two are married anyway.”

“Lace is a damn badass,” Bull drawled. “And she looks amazing in a dress. Don't fuck this up, lover boy.”

“Fuck you,” Krem said good-naturedly, and punched his arm again for good measure before heading off. Bull chuckled, and went to find Dorian.

Dorian was in the library, pouring over books on both alchemy and new horse medicine. He was so engrossed that he barely even noticed Bull sit next to him. Bull smiled fondly, leaning in to kiss his temple.

“Mm,” Dorian said vaguely, turning a page.

“Dorian,” Bull purred, stroking a hand over his thigh.

“Mm?”

Bull sat the bag of Dorian's earnings in front of his book and Dorian froze, his eyes going wide.

“And that's _after_ I told them exactly who had trained them,” Bull said as Dorian opened the bag with a strangled little noise that might have been a suppressed scream. “You have a few people who want to meet you, see if you'd be willing to just outright train their horses for them.”

“Really?” Dorian said breathlessly, looking up.

“Really.” Bull kissed his forehead. “There's a Mortalitasi that'd like to come out and see the teams, talk to you about training a pair. Vitanus Herradon. Would you be all right with that?”

“It's not a name I know,” Dorian said, still looking dazzled. “That should be fine.”

Bull smiled, reaching over to stroke his back. “All right, I'll let them know. Come on. We'll go take that to the bank and get everything set up, and then we can go and get you that staff.”

Dorian bit his lip, looking at the enormous mound of coins. “I should wait,” he said reluctantly. “There's some other things first I want to get, and, well. If I'm going to have clients then I should be able to purchase it soon.”

“Alright,” Bull said, smoothing a hand down his back. “Whatever you'd like, sweetheart.”

They rode back after the stop off at the bank, Krem sleeping with ease in the saddle as his gelding walked along with the lazy gait of a horse that knew it didn't need to be anywhere fast, and Bull reached out to hold Dorian's hand as they rode. Dorian ducked his head to try and hide his smile, and Bull lifted his hand to kiss each finger once again.

 

oOo

As Bull walked in from the barn the next day, he saw a plain black two-horse carriage sitting idly in the drive, the driver slouched down in the seat with his hat over his face. He looked dusty, and the carriage was one of the plain ones used by those with moderate amounts of money on their way around Val Firmin's surrounding countryside. He grimaced and hurried inside, shucking off his shoes in the mud room and walking into the kitchen.

“The Mortalitasi's here, I take it?” Bull said as he pulled on his house shoes. Grim grunted from where he was chopping up slices of chicken for the evening meal, which was practically a monologue, and nodded to the door. Joy and Felicity were both twining around his ankles, begging in their squeaky little voices for the scraps. Bull nodded his thanks, brushed down his shirt, and stepped out into the sitting room.

The man in the sitting room smiled at him, rising as he entered. The long robes he wore were plain black, and he moved with uncanny grace. Mortalitasi never got normal, and Bull had yet to meet one he actually liked. They were too off putting for him, most of the time. Dorian was different, not a proper Mortalitasi, and Bull was eternally grateful for that fact. Mortalitasi always seemed to look at him like they were wondering what he'd look like stuffed.

“Vitanus Herradon,” the Mortalitasi said, his voice heavily accented, and held out his hand for Bull to shake. It was surprisingly broad, the grip quite firm.

“The Iron Bull,” Bull said, putting on a smile. “So, you're here about horses?”

“Yes,” Vitanus said, his eyes lighting up. “I was asking around and was told that you and yours train some of the finest. I have seen some of them about Val Firmin, exquisite breeding and training.”

Bull felt himself relax a bit. “Yeah, we do our best. They're Ataarash stock, good solid horses, and our trainer is pretty damn impressive. He's only been with us a few months, but he's got a gift for it. All the ones sold at the auction the other week were his.”

“I have heard he is a Tevinter,” Vitanus said, looking at the pictures on the wall, his eyes pausing on Krem's austere portrait thoughtfully.

“He is. That portrait's of my business partner, Krem. The trainer is Dorian, we don't have picture of him yet, and I couldn't ask for better. He's my husband.”

This got genuine surprise, Vitanus turning to look at him again. Now his eyes were intent, drilling into him. “Your husband? Truly? A Qunari and a Tevinter, how did that happen?”

Bull nodded, a smile creeping onto his face. “Honestly? He answered my ad for a husband. Life out here in the middle of nowhere can get lonely, even with lots of ranch hands around. I wasn't looking one way or another when it came to a wife or husband, but I was happy when he came here. He's not been here for very long, now, but he's still mine, and I love him for it. He's a good man.” Bull very nearly blushed as he realized that love had popped out of his mouth without him even noticing, but now that he thought about it, it fit very well. It was a quiet love, maybe, but it certainly was there, burning away like a little fire in his chest.

Vitanus nodded, thoughtful. “I should like to meet him, if that would be acceptable.”

“I think we can definitely arrange that.”

 

oOo

The wind ruffled Dorian's hair as he urged Toad further on down the winding road of the property, keeping his hands free of the reins. Riding bareback wasn't the most fun thing he'd ever done, but Toad was a powerful horse with a somewhat alarming brain. Teaching him to follow commands with only legs seemed wise, leaving his arms free to use a rope or to relax. The sun was warm, and he tipped his face up with a happy sigh as they crested a ridge to look over the smaller flock of sheep. Stitches and Grim were watching them, and the new sheepdog was doing his work circling them from a distance. The scrubby trees that dotted the hillside were brilliant green from a recent rainstorm, splashing color over the dry brown hills. The ridge by the house was still full of poppies that swayed in the breeze, and the grain was just turned, rippling like golden waves in its field.

“I don't know that I could ever leave this place,” Dorian told Toad. “Even at its ugliest, it's still beautiful.”

He wheeled him around, holding onto his mane and urging him into an easy lope. The world flew past them, Toad's long legs eating up the ground as he stretched out, enjoying his run. Dorian laughed into the wind, waving as he passed Dalish and Krem with the other flock, and fell his soul soaring along with him. He felt easy and light, the world at his fingertips, and laughed again with sheer exhilaration as they reached the barn and Toad slowed to a walk. He swung off, taking the soft blanket with him, and Toad obediently followed him to go and be rubbed down and fed. Dorian enjoyed pampering him, and Toad loved being pampered. It was an excellent relationship.

Dorian had just started brushing him with the thick bristle brush when Bull's voice came from behind him.

“Dorian,” Bull's voice called cheerfully, and Dorian turned with a smile. The smile froze and sank from his face as soon as he saw who accompanied him.

A Mortalitasi stood there, head shaved and his robes in perfect adjustment, smile bland and skin pale from time in the Mausoleums. He was the very picture of a proper, well bred Mortalitasi, except that the magic that surrounded him in a glamour was as familiar as breathing.

“Hello, Dorian.”

Dorian's hands filled with fire. “Get away from him,” he said softly, and Bull's eye went wide. “Not you, Bull, him.”

Halward Pavus raised his hands, taking a step to the side. “I only wish to talk, Dorian.”

“And yet here you are under false pretenses.” Dorian flicked his fingers, wincing at the ache that echoed through them as a barrier washed over Bull. He was starting to the pay the price of working magic without a staff- his fingers were often in agony, the palms of his hands overly hot from being used as the main channels. He snuffed out the flames, wishing he could shove his hands in water. Bull growled as the glamour Halward had been using against him fell away, revealing his usual form. He was still dressed oddly, in plain Southern Mages robes. “How in the Void did you find me?”

Halward sighed. “I bribed the border guards. Dorian, please, cease this madness and come home. There have been advancements recently, you would not have to sleep with your wife to get her with child.”

“You think _that's_ the issue?” Dorian demanded, laughing bitterly. “Father, have you gone deaf? I have told you, time and time again, that I will not live a lie. Besides that fact, I have married. I have a life outside of Tevinter. I am a married man, and I've never much been one for divorce. The Iron Bull treats me well, and I should like to think that I make up for my inability to cook by being a good husband. I earn my keep and should like to think that I was a worth-while investment. I can even cook bread now.”

Halward looked at him like he had gone out of his mind. “You've given up your wealth, your status, your respect and your dignity, to be the wife of a Qunari savage?”

Dorian held up his hand, eyes blazing. “No. I gave up my wealth, my status, and the respect of my peers. I never gave up my dignity, and I became the _husband_ to a Tal-Vashoth farmer, who is a better man than you could ever hope to be. I will not go home, and should you try to forcibly remove me, I will remind you that I am an Orlesian citizen, that we know a good many of the police in Val Firmin, and that Orlais has a non extradition policy with Tevinter. When you are caught dragging me from the country, you will spend the rest of your days rotting in a cell, stripped of everything. Lay a finger on me, my husband, or any others who live here, and I will _ensure_ you never see the other side of the border again.”

Halward was silent, then nodded sharply. “Very well.” He sighed, clasping his hands together. “For what it is worth, you have done wonderfully with the horses, and the house is very beautiful.”

Dorian nodded stiffly. “Your graciousness is a welcome reflection, Lord Pavus.” The words came rote, the familiar call and response of polite society.

“I thank you again for your hospitality, Ser Taurus,” Halward said, bowing shortly. “I will take my leave.”

Dorian whistled to Toad, who trotted back over. He threw the saddle blanket back on and swung onto Toad's back, settling comfortably. “I'll see you to the gate.”

Halward nodded, walking back out of the barn, and Bull immediately went over to lay a hand on Dorian's leg. “Dorian-”

Dorian could feel himself shaking, and took Bull's hand. “Are you all right?”

Bull nodded, squeezing his hand. “I'm fine, I had no idea-”

Dorian leaned down, grabbing his jaw and pulling him into a kiss. Bull kissed him back, almost desperate, and Dorian pulled back with a reluctant sigh.

“Ride with me?” he asked, and Bull nodded.

They accompanied Halward Pavus' carriage all the way back out to the main gate, riding just behind. Bull made an imposing sight, bareback on Killer, and when they reached the gate the carriage stopped. Halward opened the door towards Bull, giving him a long look.

“While I believe you to be a decent enough- man,” he said, his voice tight, “harm one hair on my son's head and I will happily return to spend the rest of my days in an Orlesian cell after ripping you apart. Are we clear?”

“ _Father_ ,” Dorian hissed, shocked and a little mortified, but Bull just grinned with all his teeth.

“Transparently.”

Halward nodded sharply, eyes narrowed, and closed the door once again. The plain black carriage left the gate, and Dorian watched it go with his heart in turmoil. Bull climbed off Killer and closed the gate again, breathing out a slow sigh.

“Well. So that's your father.”

Dorian nodded, the scars on his arms aching. He rubbed his arms, watching as the carriage disappeared into the distance.

“For all that he's not a good man, by any means,” Dorian said softly, “he is still my father, and I can't deny that it does mean a great deal to me that he took the time to threaten you. Ironic, given how he's hurt me, but according to Felix it's not uncommon for- for abused people to love their abusers despite what was heaped on them.”

He sighed, and Bull walked over to stroke over his leg.

“Well,” he said softly, smiling down at him, “we've officially met both families. I suppose that means we're a proper couple now.”

“Yeah,” Bull said, just as soft, and took his hand to kiss his knuckles. Dorian's heart went soft, and he reached out to gently stroke over Bull's cheek.

“Come on,” Bull said gently, kissing his hand again. “Let's go home.”

 

oOo - One Month Later - oOo

**Telegram to: The Iron Bull**

ARRIVING ON NEXT TUESDAY W PACKAGES STOP WILL ARRANGE OWN TRANSPORT STOP BEST FUN IVE HAD IN YEARS STOP  
FA STOP

 

oOo

Dorian glared at the construction going on outside his house with outright disdain. It wasn't so much the construction itself that he minded, it was that it was so abominably loud. The construction itself had been going for almost the whole month, and was due to be done in a week. The sooner the better, in his opinion.

“Penny for your thoughts?”

Dorian leaned back into Bull's hands, relaxing a little as his thumbs soothed out some of the aches of his hips. “I don't see why we _need_ another outbuilding,” he muttered, watching as the next great stone was slotted into place. A grey stone building, two stories tall, it was situated in a neat little corner of the yard. The crew were almost finished with the building itself, and would soon be starting on the roof. It was quite large, and had double doors on each side and large glass windows to each level. “Surely this is far too expensive.”

“We'll recupe the cost,” Bull promised, kissing his neck. They stood on the upper back balcony, just beyond the Charger's sitting room, and Dorian sighed.

“I suppose. Why do we even _need_ two fireplaces in there? Won't that be dangerous?”

“It'll be better to have the warmth out there than the eternal smell of saddle oil in here,” Bull said patiently, and Dorian was promptly distracted by a kiss to his neck that suddenly had the delicious attachment of teeth. He let himself be hauled to bed without further delay, and therefore missed the bookshelves that were being carried inside.

 

oOo

The morning construction was finally over, almost a full month after it officially began, Dorian worked on plating breakfast for a breakfast in bed with Bull. He had just finished when Krem skidded into the room on stocking feet and blurted out, “Poppies.”

Dorian stared at him. “What?”

Krem gestured wildly to the tray. “Poppies, you know, you should- you should have poppies. On the tray. Because it's morning.”

Dorian stared a moment longer. “I don't believe I follow you.”

“You should get poppies so that he can see poppies in the morning for breakfast with you,” Krem said in a rush, a little desperate, and grabbed the tray. “Go- go and get poppies.”

“All right,” Dorian said slowly, eyeing him warily. “Are you feeling well?”

“Never been better!”

Krem's smile was slightly unhinged, and Dorian decided not to argue. He edged around the kitchen counter, watching in case Krem suddenly burst into operatic dramatics of some kind. “I'll just... go and get them, then.”

“You do that!”

Dorian gave up and left, strolling out to the ridge where the poppies were just coming to the end of their bloom. He buried his face in them, inhaling the sweet scent, and sat down on the ridge. It wasn't every day that the two of them went out for breakfast and sunrise, but it was more days than not, and Dorian had come to cherish that time together. He plucked one of the poppies up, stroking the soft petals, and pressed his nose to it once again. He'd learned many years before how to make a very basic perfume out of flowers. It was a sort of alchemy test that his teachers had put to him and his classmates, a gift for grandmothers and mothers around Satinalia. Dorian had made his from Amarita's Vein, and gifted it to his mother. Much to his surprise, she'd worn it religiously, and he made her a new bottle every year. It was one of the few things that reminded him that she did, in fact, like him.

Perhaps he could do a similar thing with the poppies. He could make something for himself, and wear it while the poppies were out of season. Something to get him through the bitter Southern winters- the promise of summer returning. Below him, he could faintly see the huddled pile of the sheep, soon to be taken to market as well and some to be slaughtered for winter meat. There would be lambs again in the Spring, the cycle of life carrying on, and Dorian sighed with soft happiness.

Somehow, this was where he was meant to be.

He gathered up a few more poppies, picking the most beautiful he could find, and made his way back to the house. He could see there was some commotion over by the new outbuilding, a sledge of some kind being unloaded, and shrugged it off. Probably just wood for repairs.

He went in and found the tray as he'd left it, and placed the poppies on it before going up to the room he was beginning to think of as “theirs”.

Bull was still asleep, Felicity curled up on his legs, and Dorian smiled fondly at him. He set the tray down on one of the window wells and tidied up a bit, folding up his own clothes and moving them into the closet and getting out Bull's things for the day and setting them in the chair. Once that was done he climbed back into bed, and Bull reached for him in his sleep. His heart welled up and he moved into the crook of his arm, draping his own over Bull's chest.

Maker, but how he loved this man.

 

oOo

“OW.”

“Shhhhh.”

“They're inside the house, and Bull's probably dead to the world. Did you head Dorian off?”

“I made him go pick flowers.”

“Is that a euphemism?”

“ _OW_.”

“Will you stop that!?”

“These things are fuckin' heavy!”

“They're _books_ , of course they're heavy.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Books are like, tree memories. And trees aren't light!”

“That's the most stupid thing I've ever heard.”

“Shut the fuck up.”

 

oOo

Bull woke up slowly, and Dorian stretched with him.

“Morning,” he said warmly, leaning up to press a kiss to the corner of Bull's mouth. Bull smiled, turning to kiss him properly before his hand wandered south to get a handful. Dorian squawked, more out of habit than anything, and Bull chuckled.

“Morning,” he echoed back, his voice sleep rough. “Sleep well?”

“Very. You're like a giant heater, it's wonderful.” Dorian extracted himself from the bed and fetched the tray, bringing it to Bull. He looked utterly touched, unable to help the huge, bashful smile on his face.

“This is for me?”

“It is.” Dorian sat on the bed, plucking one of the grapes from their bowl and savoring the rich flavor. “I thought you could use something nice, after you've spent all that time running around this past little while, working on the buildings.”

Bull picked up the poppies, smiling at them fondly and looking at Dorian. “You know, pretty as these are, they're still not as pretty as you.”

Dorian almost choked on another grape, feeling his face get hot, and he ducked his head to hide his smile. “Flatterer.”

“My lips only speak the truth.”

“Liar.”

“Not this time, husband-of-mine,” Bull teased, and dug into the bacon with relish. Dorian walked around so that he could settle against his side. Felicity jumped up onto the bed, purring loudly, and curled up on his lap while keeping her little eyes focused on Bull's bacon. Bull gave her the tiniest of bits, which she ate with great relish. Dorian fell back asleep to her rumbling purr and Bull's warmth, and slept with a smile on his face.

 

oOo

Dorian woke up once again almost an hour later as Bull got dressed, and yawned widely.

“Tragic,” he mumbled as Bull pulled his shirt on.

“What?”

Dorian smiled, sprawling artfully. “Watching all those lovely muscles get covered up by your shirt. It's just tragic.”

Bull snorted, deliberately flexing, and Dorian faked a swoon.

Bull came and sat on the bed, stroking through his hair. “I have a present for you today,” he said, smiling.

“You do?” Dorian perked up, immediately interested. Most of the time the gifts Bull gave him were very small, usually interesting stones shaped like hearts, or pretty pieces of glass, and once a fascinating wind chime made of bones that Dorian adored past words. “I like gifts.”

“I think you'll really like this one, too.” Bull kissed him. “I have to wait til noon to give it to you, though.”

“Oh, very well.” Dorian pulled him in for another kiss, and one turned into two, into three, into eight, until Felicity was rudely unseated and shirts went flying once again.

 

oOo

Krem whistled as Dorian and Bull finally emerged in the kitchen. “Damn, Chief. I don't think I've ever seen you up this late.”

Dorian smiled lazily, all but purring as Bull ran a hand over his back. “We stopped for a bath.”

“Oh, is stopping what you call that?” Krem said innocently. “We couldn't tell, you see, with all the screaming.”

“Hush, you,” Dorian drawled, and went to the ice box to fetch some things. While his back was turned, Krem gave a thumbs up to Bull, who nodded. Message received.

The rest of the day continued as normal til the lunch meal, and once it was done instead of heading out to the barn, Bull took Dorian's hand. The rest of the Chargers looked like they were about to explode from excitement, and Dorian looked around suspiciously.

“What's going on?” he asked warily.

“It's a surprise,” Bull said, and held up a blindfold. Dorian arched his eyebrow but sighed, closing his eyes. Bull tied it on, and Dorian gripped his hand tightly as he was led out of the house.

“I swear,” Dorian said, stepping carefully, “if you've gone and put together a picnic after all my hard work on lunch, I may actively murder you.”

Bull laughed, leading him around a rock. “No, nothing like that.”

“Good.” Dorian paused as he stepped into cool shade, and then followed as Bull tugged him forward. He stepped onto concrete and paused again, the wind having disappeared.

“Hold still,” Bull murmured, and Dorian heard doors close. Bull took his hand again, taking a deep breath. “Alright, I had this whole speech planned out, but it's all gone out of my head. So, this is me, trying to woo you. Kind of a declaration, I suppose. A way to show that I- that I do love you, and that I want you to stay forever. But more than just staying, I want you to be happy. I'm going to take off the blindfold, but keep your eyes closed, all right?”

Dorian's face felt like it was going to crack in two from smiling. “I can do that.”

The blindfold fell away, and he kept his eyes obediently closed.

“Open your hands.”

Dorian did, and heavy wood was set in them. Teak. His magic flared up, resonating with the staff, and Dorian struggled not to open suddenly burning eyes.

“All right,” Bull said, his voice shaking. “Now. Open them.”

Dorian opened his eyes, and gasped, clasping a hand to his mouth.

“Oh, Bull,” he said, his voice choked up.

He stood in the middle of a laboratory and library, the outbuilding's purpose now apparent. Books lined the half open second level, a staircase leading up into a loft that doubled as a library. There were deep armchairs by a few different windows and tables dotting all over the place. Four massive work tables lined the end of the room, with a great vast sink, a fireplace, and some truly lovely equiptment just begging to be looked at. Other bookshelves still lining the walls closest to him, all of them gleaming and stuffed. The light spilled in from the windows, and sconces dotted all over the room to keep it cheerily lit. And best of all, standing in the middle with an enormously proud smile on his face, was Felix.

“Surprise,” Bull said softly, and Dorian promptly burst into tears.

“Oh, Dorian,” Felix said, running over to hug him, and Dorian clung to him, entirely overwhelmed. He'd gone from nothing to everything in the blink of an eye, quite literally, and had no idea what to even think. He sobbed into Felix' shoulder, heart swollen with happiness.

When he finally pulled back, it was to see the Chargers there as well, all looking immensely proud.

“Where- how-” he asked, gesturing helplessly with his new staff.

“Vivienne fronted us most of the money for the building on a loan,” Bull said with a grin. “Felix and Magister Alexius got together and found copies of every single book in the Alexius library for you, and some they didn't have. And I bought the staff. The Chargers built the tables and bookshelves, and a friend of Vivienne's got us the furniture for cheap.”

Dorian gently handed Felix his staff, marched over to Bull, and pulled him into a blistering kiss.

The Chargers whooped, Felix cackled, and Bull's arms wrapped tight around him.

When they finally broke for air, Dorian laughed, his heart soaring. “You utterly ridiculous man,” he said fondly.

“It's been said.” Bull grinned at him. “I do, you know. Love you.”

“Yes,” Dorian said, reaching up to stroke his cheek. “I love you, too. And I have for a good long while.”

He winced as claws sunk into his leg, and laughed as he looked down to see Felicity, tired that she was no longer the center of attention, had decided to make her presence known. He bent down, scooping her up, and Bull kissed his forehead.

“I don't know that we'll live happily forever after,” Dorian murmured as Krem opened a bottle of champagne and Rocky started flirting with Felix, “but I think that this is good enough for me.”

“Yeah?”

Dorian smiled up at him, kissing his cheek as Felicity purred. “Books and horses, warm beds and cool mornings, cats and staves and fields full of poppies... And you, my love. What more could I ever want?”

Bull kissed him again, running one huge thumb over his cheek. “I didn't ever dream that I'd be this happy,” he said quietly. “I'm glad that it's us, happy together.”

Dorian leaned into his side, heart swollen almost to bursting. “Well, Bull, I think we can safely say that you have beaten me in the game of wooing the other.”

“Nonsense,” Bull said, wrapping an arm around him. Dorian looked up, raising an eyebrow, and Bull smiled down at him. “You've got the rest of our lives to catch back up.”

Dorian laughed, the sound ringing out through the room to mingle with the cheers of the Chargers and his adoptive brother. His home and his family were one, and his heart was light as he went to fetch a glass of champagne.

“I'm still going to be training horses,” he said later, perched on Bull's lap in one of the huge arm chairs. “I love it more than I thought I would. And I have all the house chores as well, and cooking and such, but I would like perhaps two days off a week so that I could study and work. A good balance.”

“That sounds perfectly fine,” Bull said, nodding and clinking their glasses together.

“I still can't believe this is all real,” Dorian marveled, looking around the building. “I could even take on students, now. Do you think there might be some who'd be interested?”

“I know there would be,” Bull smiled. “Lucretia could get you names, if you'd like.”

“Students,” Dorian said softly, his smile brightening. “I could teach again. And I can cast without my hands hurting. And I can read, and write my work, and still go out whenever I want and ride and train and _oh_ , Bull, this is wonderful.”

He kissed him firmly, and Bull smiled against his mouth.

 

oOo

The wind rustled through the poppies on the ridge, the stars above them gleaming. Dorian settled down, an arm draped over Bull's chest. The crickets chirped in the distance, but even they sounded sleepy, as if being up were a chore even to them. The world was all cool stillness after the excitement of the day, the shock wound down into soft, happy contentment. Bull's hand traced lazy patterns over Dorian's back, and Dorian pillowed his head on Bull's shoulder.

“Bull?” he whispered.

Bull made a noise that might have been acknowledgment.

“I have a secret.”

Another noise, slightly more interested.

“It's terribly scandalous.”

Yet another noise. Dorian buried his face against Bull's side, grinning.

“I love you.”

Bull chuckled, and Dorian looked up. Bull's eye twinkled, the stars reflecting in it. “Is that so?”

“It is,” Dorian said seriously, the effect ruined by how he was grinning.

“Well,” Bull said thoughtfully, “I suppose it's a good think I love you too, then.”

“An excellent thing,” Dorian agreed, and with that, kissed his husband good night.

Around them, the poppies swirled in the breeze, and the wind carried away any last fears far, far away into the night. Below the great blanket of stars, Dorian and The Iron Bull slept, content.

All was well.

oOo

 


End file.
